Pieces of the two of you
by Little.Latina
Summary: Oneshots and drabbles about the lives of Michelle Dessler and Tony Almeida during the course of all seasons. Order is shuffle and nonspecific.
1. Tears, raindrops, angels

**Tears, raindrops, angels**

Pouring rain, you watch it as it falls from the sky.

Angels' tears in the shape of little raindrops. Angels' tears, tears like yours.

Tears fall from Heaven as raindrops fall from your eyes and stream down your beautiful face; after all, those raindrops that fall from Heaven are nothing but what human beings call tears when they cloud their gazes. Tears like yours. Raindrops like those that are wetting your cheeks right now.

Rain is pouring outside that apartment you could never - and would never - call your _home_. Home, for you, is where he is, and by your side he is not anymore. He's never lived in this apartment, which has never been his _home_, which has never been a place he could call _his own_. A foot of his has never been set in here, this place has never belonged to him, and so you _cannot_ call it your _home_.

This, this is just somewhere to stay, it's just a heartless apartment you live in because after _you_ left _him_ you needed to put a roof above your head. But this, this is not home. This will never be home.

Home is where he is, and you don't know where he is now. You don't know if there is a roof above his head just like there is one above yours, and that thought alone is enough to eat at you to the point you think it is going to end up killing you. Not knowing who he is with, not knowing how he is, not knowing if he is somewhere safe, that lack of knowledge is devouring you from the inside out.

_You_ left _him_. You _had_ to. Because watching as he killed himself using alcohol as a very silent but effective weapon was something you couldn't bare. Because being shouted out by him was something you could not bare either. The guilt, the despair, feeling useless because nothing you did was good enough to drag him out the hole he had hidden away from the world – and from _you_ – inside after he was released from prison, those were things you tried to deal with but found yourself not sufficiently expert to control, and not having in your hands the power to control them was driving you crazy, killing you too.

You _had_ to leave. He left you no option. Hadn't you done so, had you stayed, you would have only stayed to watch him die in the arms of alcohol, you would have only stayed just to later follow his own steps, totally unable to go on with your life knowing he had ended his.

You left because you thought that was what he needed: some time alone, some space, and some closure. You thought he needed to leave the past behind, forget about you, forget about what had happened. After all, you are the reason why his life became the hell it was last time you saw him five months ago. You are the reason why he was willing to give up _twenty years_ of his life. You are the reason why his future shattered. Everything ended up messy and screwed for him _because of you_, because of what he did to save you, because he was selfish enough to choose you over the country and its safety, because he was selfish enough to decide that the lives of thousands were nothing compared with a lifetime without you.

A lifetime in prison was better than a lifetime as a free man but without you, that was what he told you plenty of times when you visited him while he was in jail. Or at least those were the words he constantly repeated to you during your first visits, before he started shouting you out.

You left because you thought having you there crying your eyes out every single night only would make things worse for him. You left because you thought you were in no position to help him. You left because you thought he resented you for what had happened. You left because you thought he would get better if you did, you thought things would get better for him if he didn't have to put up with the constant reminder of why he had had to go through a trial and be treated as a traitor. You left because you thought he didn't need or want to continue from where you had left off before he was taken away: you thought he needed to start over new. And you loved him – you still love him – so much you couldn't just stay out of selfishness and not give him that chance.

He had saved your life, and because of that now his was ruined. Maybe if you left, you thought, the shattered pieces could be put back together and he would be able to move on.

You _had_ to leave.

And now, now, five months later, you don't know where he is. You don't know how he is. You don't know who he is with. You don't know if there is a roof above his head tonight.

Pouring rain falls from the start: angels are crying desperately, mercilessly. And so are you.

You are looking out the window as rain falls, trying to concentrate on the sound of raindrops hitting the ground, trying not to listen to the sound of your own tears as they stream down your wet, reddish face.

It is raining in your eyes too. It's raining harder than ever. It's been raining in your eyes ever since he was taken away from you. And you don't know when or if this rain is ever going to stop.

So on nights like this, when angels cry and cry, you sit and look out the window as they do, you sit and look out the window as it pours in your eyes.

You ignore your own tears with the same intensity you try to ignore memories of him, memories of better times, memories of the life and happiness you two had and shared together during those wonderful three years. You ignore your tears and focus on the rain instead. You ignore your tears and focus on angels' tears; you focus on the pouring rain.

But your attempts don't work. They are completely useless, your attempts. So after a long, filled with nothing but sadness, guilt and raw desperation day you sit there, looking at the window, starting at the dark, clouded sky and the raindrops falling from it and think of him. You think of the happiness and meaning he brought into your life, you think of the happiness and meaning your 'life' – if you can call it that – lacks of now that you are not longer together. You think of the lonely years you have ahead as tears stream down your face with the force and fierceness of a flood.

Suddenly, when you less expect it, your mind is assaulted by a thought: maybe these angels' tears falling from the dark, clouded skies are for the two of you and your love, this love that refuses to die, this love that will always be with you because you have been marked with it ever since the moment you first felt it burning in your heart, this love that even if so difficulty still breathes, this love that will stay alive for as long as you live.

Your mind is – all of a sudden – being wandered by the thought that maybe wherever it is that he is now, he is contemplating the rain as it pours too, missing you as madly as you miss him, wishing you were there and beaten by the idea that maybe it is true that when a flood is so powerful and so intense like this one it means a crowd of angels is crying.

As you drift off to sleep, you wonder if he is already asleep. You wonder if tonight he fell asleep thinking of you. You wonder if he ever thinks of you or if you were right to think he needed to leave you behind and start to forget. You wonder if his face is as reddish and as wet as yours is tonight. You wonder if he is convinced too that this pouring rain means there are angels crying for the two of you and your love. The brief second of consciousness before dreamland opens its door for you, you wonder if – in the case that he does cry for you – his tears are as bitter and as intense as yours.


	2. Love, worship, need and devotion

**Love, worship, need and devotion**

Love, worship, need and devotion are written all over your face when you look at her in the eyes, whether she is trying to focus on whatever crap Ryan Chappelle is going on about during a boring meeting with District and you are with your gaze fixed on her, following her every move because that way the meeting will be less of a pain in the foot, or the second after you have cupped her beautiful face with your strong hands and are about to plant kisses all over her forehead, nose and chin.

Love, worship, need and devotion are written all over your face when you observe her sleep, whether she is sitting on the passenger seat of your car while you are driving her home after a hard day at work and she says to you that she will 'close her eyes to rest them for a moment', or when she joins you on the couch – knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees, head resting on your lap, your fingertips playing with her curls – on Thursday nights and _tries_, truly _tries _to watch CSI with you and find it interesting and entertaining, but fails: fifteen minutes into the episode – twenty five if there are signs that there will be something of any kind of romantic source happening between Grissom and Sara during it – her breathing becomes even and relaxed, an indication that tiredness and boredom have caught up with her and she has fallen asleep _again_.

Love, worship, need and devotion are written all over your face when you hear her singing, whether the sound of her angelic voice comes from the shower in the early hours of the morning as some of her favorite albums gets played, or when after a hellish day you are so exhausted and so beat that even closing your eyes hurts she nestles herself in your chest, buries her head in the crook of your neck so that her mouth is right next to your ear and half sings-half hums that Spanish lullaby she's learned from your mother until you succumb to your own fatigue.

Love, worship, need and devotion are written all over your face when she lets you wipe all of her tears away as they fall, whether her sadness has been awoken by a sappy movie that ends with the hero of the story getting himself killed in order to save the love of his life, or if the necessity of pouring her eyes out is a consequence of _one of those days_ that imply fighting terrorism, risking the lives of your friends and co-worker and dealing with the loss of those real heroes who died to protect the safety of the United States of America and its citizens.

Love, worship, need and devotion are written all over your face when she laughs, whether she is laughing at one of your bad jokes (they usually involve Ryan Chappelle, Chloe O'Brien, Adam Kauffman or Brad Hammond), or at a Desperate Housewives new episode on Sunday nights. You will never understand what is so funny about five women that live on the same lane and share a gossip session about their criminal neighbours over a cup of coffee and then betray each other by sleeping with their best friends' forbidden by inexplicit laws exes, but you watch it _every Sunday_, you _religiously watch it every Sunday_ because it's a show she likes, because it's a show that lightens up her mood when she's not feeling oh so well even if for sixty minutes, and you want to be a part of that precious weekly hour she spends pretending she is just a normal woman with normal worries and not a federal agent who has seen, heard and gone through things no human being should ever see, hear or go through; you watch it with her because during those sixty minutes you can act as if yours were an ordinary marriage with ordinary problems like the ones you see on that show.

Love, worship, need and devotion are written all over your face every time you touch, whether the skin to skin contact happens during work time when she hands you a file and your fingers and hers brush briefly, or when you are at home, where she is your wife and not your second in command so you have the liberty to wrap your arms around her perfect hourglass waist and let your hands roam all over her back as you kiss her lips.

Love, worship, need and devotion are written all over your face whenever you think of her, whenever you are with her, whenever you see her, whenever you smell her, whenever you hear the sound of her voice, whenever you touch her, whenever she smiles, whenever she laughs, whenever she cries, whenever she sings, whenever she is moody because _that_ time of the month is approaching, whenever she is awake, whenever she is asleep, whenever she is happy, whenever she is sad, whenever she is mad at you because you have done something wrong or whenever she is willing to swallow up her pride and admit that you were right and that she wasn't.

You love her, worship her, need her and are devote to her twenty fours hours over twenty four hours, seven days a week every minute of the day, each day of the month, all twelve months of the year, all years of your life.

Not even for a second do you stop loving her, worshipping her, needing her and being devote to her.

And not even for a second does she stop seeing love, worship, need and devotion written all over your face.

_Reviews do __**really**__make my day and encourage me to keep writing. _


	3. You shouldn't have

**You shouldn't have**

You shouldn't have fallen in love with him. The reasons why not are obvious: he is your boss, he seems to have become emotionally unreachable and unavailable after what happened with the last woman he opened up to, he clearly has decided long time ago that he wants to keep professional and personal divided by tall walls he himself has built around both his soul and heart, you are good friends with him and 'coming onto him' could ruin everything else you have…

But you fell in love with him anyway. You shouldn't have, but what's done is done, and nothing can be changed back to what it use to be because you never truly saw him as just a friend to begin with: you always felt attracted to him, you always felt there was something hanging on between the two of you, you always knew the possibilities of something more were there.

You shouldn't have asked him out in the middle of a national crisis. But you did it anyway. Because George Mason's words touched you in ways you couldn't describe even if your life depended on it. _Find something that makes you happy and do it; the rest is just background noise_. In your defense it can be said that you acted out of fear and despair, that you were afraid you might die if that bomb did go off after all and you needed to get those emotions out of your chest before they became a weight too heavy to carry throughout the rest of the day. So _you_ asked _him_ out. That was so out of character for you it would be telling a lie if you said that you weren't surprised the second you found yourself having _that_ conversation with _him_. You would be telling a lie if you said you weren't surprised the second you found those words addressed to him leaving your mouth.

You shouldn't have let what happened between Carrie and your brother upset you so much, or at least you shouldn't have let it be shown. But you did anyway; it was too much, too much to handle, and after having worked almost nineteen hours straight and been through all the things you had to put up with that day, losing control seemed to be the least one could expect from a human being. And, no matter what, you are a human being.

You shouldn't have lost it after Danny attacked her, though. You should have remained cool and strong. You should have proven yourself you were stronger than that. You should have proven _him_ you were stronger than that and not just a silly, shy, weak little girl that needs her boss to comfort her when she is tired and scared.

You shouldn't have let him comfort you. But did you need him to comfort you right then and there, when you were so tired and so scared. You put your own needs before your job and allowed yourself to collapse right there in the arms of your boss, who also happens to be the man you are in love with.

You shouldn't have let him touch you the way he did. You shouldn't have let him caress you the way he did. Because the moment he dropped his guard and let you see how much he cared for you, the moment he looked at you in the eyes like _that_ and you saw he was off guard, that moment you lost all self-control you have been left with and _kissed_ him. Yes, you kissed your boss, after having asked him out just mere eight hours ago, in the middle of a national crisis, with World War III possibly just a few feet away.

You shouldn't have kissed him. No matter how sure, how convincing he sounded ten minutes later over the phone when he said to you there was nothing to be sorry for, when he said to you that he wasn't sorry for what had happened. You believed him, yes, you believed in every single word that fell off his lips. You always do. It is impossible for you not to believe in every single word he says.

You shouldn't have taken his hand in yours back in the interrogation room where you two were being held by Chappelle's people. But you did it anyway. Because not only did you need to feel something _real_ after the hell you had been through during the course of the previous twenty-who-knows-how-many hours but you also needed to feel _connected_ with him somehow, even if for only five seconds; you felt your whole body relaxing the moment he squeezed your hand with the same intensity you squeezed his, and for a brief instant the worries and fears that were torturing your mind disappeared and allowed a wave of tranquilization wash over you.

You shouldn't have smiled at him the way you did before you left the office this morning, after he told you he thought of you as one of the few people that had made a difference today. But you did it anyway. Because you know – somehow, you know, somehow you have always known – just how much he loves seeing you smile.

You shouldn't be right here right now, knocking on the door of his apartment at two o'clock in the morning and the reasons why you shouldn't have driven to his place on a rainy night and at these hours are as obvious as the reasons why you shouldn't have fallen in love with him, who happens to be your boss, who happens to be a man who you are sure has promised to himself that he would keep personal and professional divided by tall walls, who happens to be a person you no longer work with but for, who happens to be a person you admire, who happens to be a person who is probably catching up on sleep after the unfortunate events of the last forty eight hours, events that have probably left him worn out so much he is going to kill you once he opens the door and sees you standing there, soaked up in rain, looking like a complete idiot in love, a lovesick puppy that has just knocked on his apartment's door and disturb him from his sleep.

No, you shouldn't be here right now. But you are anyway. Because you couldn't sleep. Because you were scared of falling asleep: you knew nightmares would come haunt you as soon as you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to drift off. You couldn't sleep because the faces of the ones who died kept coming back to you: Paula, George, all those co-workers you will never see again because they're dead now, because they didn't survive, because they weren't as lucky as you were…

You shouldn't be here right now, but you are, anyway.

The moment he opens the door, you immediately regret having let your basic instincts and raw emotions guide you.

The moment he opens the door, you immediately are consumed by the thought that this is not the place where you should be: you should be at home, trying to sleep or crying with your head buried in the pillow or watching a movie to distract yourself from the haunting memories that torture you or staring at the ceiling praying for the flashes of the horrible things that happened that day to go away and leave you alone, but you shouldn't be here-

No, you should definitely not be here, standing right in front of him, soaked up in rain and looking as if you were about to collapse from both physical and emotional tiredness any time soon.

Right now, right now you are regretting having come here; right now you are regretting having not stayed at home; right now you are regretting having thought you could come here in seek of comfort you don't truly know if he wants to provide.

"Sorry, Tony, I… I shouldn't have come, I shouldn't be here, I just thought I,… I just couldn't…" you start rambling out, wanting to explain what are you doing here, wanting to explain why you came here in the first place, but nothing comes past your mouth: all of a sudden it's dry, and you are at a loss of words. All of a sudden you don't know what to say, you don't know how to turn your thoughts into words, you don't know how to force your brain and tongue to connect one with the other, you nearly forget how to breathe and all you can do is babble out some incoherencies that will lead you nowhere.

He looks at you, as if trying to read your face and its expression, as if trying to understand all those things you cannot put into words.

He succeeds: he sees in your eyes the fear, the exhaustion, the fatigue, the weariness, the defeat, the sadness, the lack of rest, the need for soothe that you have, the physical soreness, the empty holes in your heart that need to be filled, the wounds and scars that need to be healed…

He sees it all, he understands it all, because he feels the same way you do: he is tired too, and his appearance gives away the fact that he hasn't had any slept ever since he got home from work; it's obvious he couldn't close his eyes without re-living it all either. The sadness, the defeat, the weariness, the lack of rest, the need for soothe, the fatigue, all those heavy things you are carrying on your shoulders he is carrying them too, he has been carrying them ever since the day he discovered Nina had betrayed him, he has been carrying them ever since the day Teri Bauer did, he has been carrying them ever since the day he promised personal and professional won't mix again. He has been carrying them for so long that he doesn't remember how everything was when that weight wasn't on his shoulders.

His heart is – it has been for a long time now – full of holes that require to be filled, and the scars and wounds in his soul have been waiting for too long to be healed.

The moment he caresses your lips with his thumb in order to make them stop quiver, the moment he cups your cold, wet face with his warm hands, the moment he locks his eyes with yours, the moment he whispers that it's okay, that he is glad you are there because he doesn't want to be alone, all your previous thoughts are thrown out the window and a wave of tranquilization provided by the gentleness of his touch washes over you once again.

The moment he asks you if you would like some tea or a cup of coffee and offers you some of his clothes to change into because he doesn't want you to catch a cold (for a brief instant you have forgotten you were all soaked up in rain), you relax a little bit more.

The moment he sits by your side on the couch and tells you he wants nothing buy to hold you and make the pain you are feeling go away, you know you did the right thing by letting your instinct and raw emotions guide you.

In theory, you shouldn't have come, but you came anyway. You are glad you did, and so is he.


	4. Spanish

_You have no idea how immensely happy reviews make me. Each time I see one has been left, the widest smile appears on my face. Leave me a review so I can go dance happily around the room grinning like an idiot (lol).__ I know this chapter is a little bit shorter than the rest, but I wanted to post something before the weekend started. Chapter to come will be longer, I promise._

**Spanish**

She loves it when you speak to her in Spanish, although half of the words you say she doesn't fully understand, but your hot breath on the side of her neck, your lips just an inch away from her impossibly softer skin, your raw accent and your incredibly sexy lowest tone of voice are enough to drive her crazy, make her slowly melt into your arms and leave her breathless even when she is not quite sure what you meant with what you said.

So far now she's learned some basic words and phrases; she has figured out their meanings all by herself without your help. She knows _te amo _means _I love you_, _princesa_ means _princess_, _te necesito_ means _I need you, te extraño_ means _I miss you_…

Those are the words you constantly repeat to her; you whisper them in her ear every night before she falls asleep wrapped up in your arms. You whisper them to her every morning when you drop kisses all over her face to wake her up. Truth be told, you whisper them to her every time you get the chance, because there is nothing that fulfils you more than make her feel as loved and adored as she truly is.

She loves it when you speak to her in Spanish, and sometimes she asks you to when you rock her to sleep after a difficult day at work. Most of what you say, she has no idea what it means and has trouble figuring it out, because in moments like these all she cares about is closing her eyes in order to forget about everything concerned to the world that surrounds her, breathing you in and letting your verbal displays of affection wash over her, warm her to the very core and make her feel better almost automatically. The meaning behind the words you are saying doesn't really matter to her, at least not under those circumstances: all that matters is the way those words are said, the way _you_ say them, with such a powerful deepness you make both her body and soul quiver. You make her feel special, as if she was the only important thing on the face of this Earth (to you, she is). You make her feel as if everything is going to work itself out and fall into the right place at the end.

She loves it when you speak to her in Spanish, and the truth is that you love the effect this little skill of yours seems to have on her. You love knowing that it makes her get weak on the knees, your male ego is sent to the top of the roof when you notice that the sound of your voice fastens the beat of her heart and causes her to close her eyes in pleasure. You love taking in the little details that give away what you do to her when you wrap your arms around her waist, pull her closer and before crashing his mouth to hers say _Te amo, princesa_: her pulse speeds up, a sweet smile appears on her lips and crosses her face from ear to ear and she kisses you back with a possessiveness that doesn't leave any room to any type of doubts: she never wants to let you go.

Today, today has not been different to the rest of the day of your lives: you woke up, made love, had breakfast, when to work, dealt with all CTU is made of, went back home, you cooked dinner while she took a shower, watched some TV cuddled up on the couch and then went straight to bed.

And there is where you are right now, about to drift off to sleep after a normal but long and tiring day. She is dozing off as well, her head resting on your chest and the fingers of her right hand entwined with the fingers of your left hand. Her even breaths are soothing, and with your eyes closed you remain there listening to them, trying to match them with your own.

Just before Morpheus takes you in his arms and assuming she has already fallen asleep, you lower your head so your mouth is right next to her ear and murmur:

"Good night, baby, _te amo_"

To your surprise, she sighs and with a not perfect but to your ears immensely beautiful accent that tries to sound like yours murmurs back:

"_Te amo_"

You fall asleep with the biggest smile on your face, and the last thought that wanders your mind before it shouts down is that you definitely are going to teach her some more Spanish tomorrow, because the sound of it in her lips just makes it an even more beautiful language.


	5. Achilles' heel

_Please, please, please leave reviews. They make me so happy I could not explain the feeling even if I tried. I'm going to keep writing this one-shots and drabbles whether reviews are left or not because writing fulfils me and makes me happier than any other thing in this world, but getting reviews is always nice and encouraging._

**Achilles' heel**

It's a fatal weakness in spite of overall strength that can actually or potentially lead to downfall. That is what an Achilles' heel is according to the dictionary.

According to _him_ – the man you love, admire and respect the most -, an Achilles' heel should be described in a simpler yet more poetic way: it is that thing or that person you couldn't bear seeing touched, hurt, damaged or broken; it is that special, unique, irreplaceable object or human being you couldn't keep on living without if it ever were to be taken away from you, because it is what sustains you, what helps you standing still, what makes you stand on your feet even when everything around you is collapsing, crashing and then colliding and everyone else around you is running in circles in despair worrying about problems that have no solution and will never find one.

Such explanation had never occurred to you and it would have never crossed your mind hadn't he shared his perspective and opinion on the matter with you; you had always been one of those who thought of someone's Achilles' heel as their weakness, a disadvantage, a dangerous but _material _(you never thought of it as a _someone _but as a _something_) weak spot that could slow and painfully guide them into a terrible downfall.

When you told him this, he kissed your lips gently, cupped your face with his hands and rested his forehead on yours. Then, he began to speak in a low whisper, his mouth an inch away from yours so his hot breath and yours mixed, and the things he said to you undid you in the best of all possible ways and made your heart melt to the sound of his voice:

"I used to think of it as a _something_ too until the moment I realized I was in love with you and wanted to spend eternity by your side, protecting you, taking care of you, watching over you. Sweetheart, you are my only weakness. You are my Achilles' heel. If I have you by my side, I am indestructible. I can go through all challenges; I can go through everything and anything as long as I have _you_. With you, I am as whole and as complete as I have never been before we met and as I will ever be. And without you, without you I would be weak and useless. Did something happen to you, did something tear you apart from me, I'd be nothing, I'd never move on. Believe me, sweetheart, you've become my Achilles' heel"

Two years after that little conversation took place, he was charged with treason and locked up in jail because he chose you, he chose your wellbeing over the country's and its citizen's, he chose to save you because he still meant what he once said to you: he could never put up with you being hurt, he could never put up with you being ripped apart from his arms.

You were, you are, you will always be his Achilles' heel, his only weakness, his weakest spot. Everything around him may be collapsing, crashing and then colliding and everyone else around him may be running in circles in despair worrying about problems that have no solution and will never find one, but as long as you safe and s0und, breathing and alive he is sustained, he can stand on his feet, he can be strong enough to deal with it all, he can be strong enough to go through anything.

This is what you tell yourself every night while you cry yourself to sleep curled up in a ball and trying to muffle your sobs with the pillow his head once rested on: he will be okay, everything will be alright, everything will work itself out, and he will be capable of facing it all. He said he could live with anything as long as you were okay, and that is something you want to believe so badly…

According to _him_ – the man you love, admire and respect the most -, an Achilles' heel should be described in a simpler yet more poetic way: it is that thing or that person you couldn't bear seeing touched, hurt, damaged or broken; it is that special, unique, irreplaceable object or human being you couldn't keep on living without if it ever were to be taken away from you…

He was taken away from you.

He was (_he is_) your Achilles' heel, and it's been destroyed, shattered, broken to small, little pieces.

According to his point of view of what someone's Achilles' heel is, according to that description that is simpler and yet more poetic that the one given by any dictionary, living with a broken Achilles' heel is torturous, painful and impossible, something that ends up driving you crazy, something that ends up killing you because life becomes unbearable, agonizing, excruciating.

And that's how you feel: living, breathing, existing is torturous, painful and impossible.

He was (_he is_) your Achilles' heel, and he's been destroyed, shattered, broken to small, little pieces.

_This is the part where you leave me a review _


	6. Six

**Six**

It took you six months to admit you had feelings for her. Six long months you spent every minute of trying to keep your eyes shut to the fact that you had done what you once promised yourself you would never do again: you had fallen in love with her. And admitting it took you six months.

It took you six days to gather the required courage and ask her out on an official first date. You both had almost silently agreed you would get together for dinner and a movie if you saved Los Angeles and the nuclear bomb didn't go off, but nothing on the matter had been mentioned neither by you nor her, at least not until, six days later, you finally deep breathed, called her up to your office and while looking into those beautiful, exotic eyes told her you would pick her up at her place at 7 pm the following Friday.

It took you six weeks of dating to realize she was the love of your life, the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your existence with, the woman you wanted to share the rest of your days with, the woman you wanted to build a home with and have children with.

It took you six minutes to adequately express in tender, romantic phrases - although in your opinion no words are and will never be enough in order to explain just how insanely much you love and adore her – your want, desire and necessity to make her fully and completely yours. After six minutes of caressing her ears with soft whispers while you held her body impossibly closer to yours, you asked her to be your wife. It took six seconds – six seconds that for you were a little eternity – for her tongue and brain to connect and give you the answer you had been waiting and hoping for. It took her six seconds to crash your mouth against hers while she repeated _yes_ a million times over and over again.

It took six hours for your sobriety to be recovered the day she left you. You were so drunk you didn't even have the necessary strength to pull yourself together, open your mouth and beg her to stay, beg her not to leave you, promise her you would change. You were too drunk to even have control over your own body. Six hours later, when you woke up and saw the mess you were merged in, the terrible mess you had grown into after you were released from prison, when six hours later you caught up with the situation and its weight you wish you had been sober, you wish you hadn't drunk so much on that day so you would have been able to stand up, walk your way to her, cup her face in your hands, look at her in the eyes, brush your nose against her just the way she liked it and told her you loved her so much you would die without her (you nearly did die without her).

It took you six months of pure agony in order to realize just how much you had screwed all up. Six long months during which you only did one thing: think of her. Six months during which your dreams were only of her: you kissed her in your dreams, you made mad love to her in your dreams, you held her in your dreams, you asked for forgiveness in your dreams, you healed all her wounds in your dreams, you washed her pain away in your dreams, you caught her tears as they fell in your dreams. Six months during which your body craved hers in a way you never thought possible. Six months during which it physically and emotionally hurt not having her by your side. Six months during which you hallucinated with her touch, feel and taste. Six months during which you couldn't breathe because every breath you took was a waste of both energy and time because she wasn't there to match your breathing patterns with her own like she used to.

It took you six minutes, six long minutes to propose to her for a second time the morning of Jack's 'death', the morning that found you two reunited, finally reunited after the Hell you had been put through ever since the day of the virus in the Chandler Plaza Hotel, the day you had been taken away because you chose to save her and that made you – according to everyone's opinion – a traitor to your country and its people. Six minutes you spent confessing to her how sorry you were, how much you loved and needed her, how you had almost died without her, how much you had wanted to die because you had lost her, how much you regretted having pushed her away, all of that between desperate sobs.

Six seconds after you started whispering those words in her ears, her eyes were already filled with tears.

Six seconds after you asked that question, six seconds after you asked her to marry you and be your wife again, she said _yes_ as she kissed all over your face.

Six days later you went to City Hall and got married to each other for the second time, although in your heart she had never stopped being your wife and in hers you had never stopped being her husband.

Now six months have passed since that day and as you look at her sleeping form lying next to you on the bed after a sweet, long session of wild lovemaking you can't help but to replay in your head all difficult and happy times you have gone through together ever since the day of the bomb and think that – after all, and all in all – you are and have always been a lucky man. The luckiest man, because you have her.


	7. If I kiss you where it's sore

**Author's note: **I was reading MichelleBA's excellent, amazing, incredibly good fic "_Faithfully yours"_ today and its newest chapter gave me the idea for this little piece of writing. Thanks to her for the great inspiration.

The title of this chapter comes from a line of a song by Regina Spektor. Its title is _"Better"_.

And remember, reviews make me go dancing happily all over my room when I get them.

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**If I kiss you where it's sore**

He usually stays awake for a little longer than you, his body lying on his side supported by an elbow, his head resting on a hand and his face to you, a smile spread across it as your chest rhythmically rises and falls with every breath you take; listening to your soft breathing seems to sooth him to sleep, he finds it more relaxing than any other thing: in his own words, it is his favorite sound. And watching you sleep is his favorite thing in this world.

Tonight, anyway, he wasn't able to stay awake for a little longer than you like he does every night and enjoy the pleasure of admiring your exotic features and breathtaking beauty: as soon as his body hit the mattress he fell into a deep sleep. Today was as tiring and as stressing as a normal day working at CTU can be, but ever since he woke up this morning he's been feeling like pure crap: terrible headache, sore back, aching muscles, dark circles under his eyes that he could barely keep open and a high fever he lied about when asked because he didn't want to be sent home running because his stubbornness wouldn't allow him to admit he needed to take a day off.

So the moment you got home two hours ago he headed towards the bedroom and collapsed right there without even bothering to take his clothes off.

You've seen him sick once before, you know he just needs to sleep this off and that he probably will be feeling better tomorrow morning after a long, good night of rest, so you're not worried. You're just tired, so tired, so exhausted all you want is to go to sleep as well.

You snuggle impossibly closer to him, like you do every night. He is sleeping on his side; your body is sideways too, so you're facing him, the gap between his nose and yours shorter than an inch. You curl up in a ball in fetal position, knees to your chest and touching his chest as well, and rest your head on the crook of his neck, like you always do because it makes you feel safe. His body heat is overwhelming and almost suffocating, but you don't care. You breathe him in a couple of times – you love the mixture of his cologne and male scent - and then drop a few light kisses in the portion of skin where his neck and shoulder meet. It really is heated; he still is running a high fever, but it's not as high as it was a couple of hours ago.

The second you start to doze off, you feel him moving in his sleep and his arms come to wrap themselves around your waist, as if he were unconsciously trying to pull your body even closer to his, a thought that makes you smile with all you have.

"_Chelle,_ _mi vida_…" you hear him whisper not exactly effortlessly: it is as if every word took him an eternity to pronounce, as if his lips hurt too much every time he tries to form words with them. Some times he talks in Spanish in his sleep, but by the way his voice sounds and the trouble he has forming every syllable you come to the conclusion that he must be delirious with fever "_Chelle, mi amor_…"

"I'm here, baby" you whisper back, rising up a hand to his cheek and caressing it softly with the tip of your fingers.

"I love you so much, my little princess" he says. Then, he gasps for air and repeats the same but in his mother language: "_Te amo tanto, mi princesita_". His eyes are still shut tightly and his voice is barely audible, but the room is so quiet and you pay such an excessive attention to his every move his sentences are not unintelligible to you at all.

"I love you too, baby" a moment of silence follows. Still gently caressing his cheek, you listen to his breathing and – although it's a little bit agitated – you find it soothing and relaxing: if your breathing is his favorite sound in this world, then his is yours, definitely.

"My head is killing me" he murmurs "And my body is sore…" he continues complaining, maybe to you or maybe to no one in particular.

The idea doesn't come to you immediately, but after some minutes of silence and quietness spent stroking his hair you remember something he did a night you got as sick as he is now if not sicker. You remember it as if it had happened today and not one and a half years ago: it made you feel so good almost immediately and you think it's worth trying the same therapeutic method with him.

_He had tucked you in like half an hour ago but you hadn't fallen asleep yet. He was there with you, holding you in his arms, drawing circles in your stomach with his finger and rubbing your back with his other hand._

"_I can't even keep my eyes open, they just hurt so much…" you had told him. You had a headache too, a headache that was making you feel dizzy and nauseous. _

"_If I kiss you where it hurts, will you feel better?" _

_You wanted to answer his question, you wanted to say _yes_ but your brain and tongue wouldn't connect. You were so tired you couldn't even think straight, but somehow, you managed to nod with your head._

_He kissed all over your face: first your forehead, then each one of your eyelids. He kissed your nose and then stroked it with his. __He kissed your cheeks, your chin, your jaw, your lips and then your forehead again. He kept on kissing your until you finally relaxed and fell asleep there in his warm embrace. _

"If I kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better?" you ask him, using almost his same words.

"I already feel better by just having you here wrapped up in my arms" it comes his reply.

"I can make you feel even better" you offer, hoping your idea will work with him just the way it worked with you.

You sit up – although he tries his best to keep you there snuggling up with him – and gently make him lie on his back. Then, you bend forwards him supporting your own weight with your elbows on the mattress, so now half your body is hovering over his.

You start pressing your lips on his forehead, just like he did to you, and then you kiss all the way down the bridge of his nose. A few Eskimo kisses follow, and then he surprise you by gently tugging at your lips with his, capturing you in the sweetest display of affection.

"You're right: your kisses are making me feel a lot better" he says against your mouth, and tugs at your upper lip again. His eyes are still tightly squeezed, he still is running a high fever and all muscles in his body are sore, but you believe him when he tells you this "They're the best medicine ever" he strokes your nose with his again, very slowly, which causes you both to smile weakly before deepening the kiss just a little.

"You need to get some sleep now" you say, as you come to rest in your former position, wrapped up in his arms and with your head nested in the crook of his neck "I'll stay awake a little longer in case you need me. I'll be here taking care of you" you kiss his shoulder.

"_Gracias, hermosa, te amo_" is the last thing you hear before he finally goes back to dreamland.


	8. It didn't go as planned

**Author's Note: **_I had been promising I would post a long story and here it is. You know just how immensely and insanely happy getting review makes me, right? Especially when it comes to this not so little piece of writing I was all Friday and all weekend working on. So please, would you please comment on this and tell me what you think? Or at least let me know somehow you are reading this collection of one-shots and drabbles._

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**It didn't go as planned**

It wasn't supposed to be like that. What you had planned couldn't have been more different from what ended up taking place that night, the night of your first date with her, the night on which the perfect first date you had spent the last two weeks thinking of should have materialized.

The perfect first date you had spent the last two weeks planning because you wanted to make it special, impossible to forget, something simple but immensely beautiful; you wanted it to be as simple and as immensely beautiful as she, the woman you were so in love with, was.

You saved Los Angeles; you helped proving the Cyprus recording was false and - as you said to her before she left your office with that incredibly wide smile on her face, that smile that had the power to lighten up your mood whenever it appeared - you had made a difference that day (although some illegal things had had to be done in the process, like drugging Chappelle to let him out of the game field because he had become something you didn't have time to deal with if you wanted to prevent World War III from happening).

But now the sun was starting to rise again, and the worse needed to be left behind; not only the bad things you had had to go through during the course of the day of the bomb had to be forgotten and remain where they had to be (the past), but also all the suffering and difficult times you both had had to couple with in the course of your entire lives needed to be thrown away so you could start over new, so you could find something that made you happy and do it.

Everything related to the attempt of assassinate against David Palmer had been taken care of and things seemed to have been guided back to where they all belonged: normality or at least something close enough to it. So for the first time in a long, exhausting week you both would have a much deserved day off.

No bombs threatening to go off, no clocks ticking away, no Jack expecting her to put her job on the line because he needed help to go behind District, Division and _you_ in order to spare the United States of America a major catastrophe; no Ryan Chappelle hovering over you two, barking orders at you and making your lives a living Hell just because he still resented you _a little_ for that _something_ that had happened; no Carrie Turner making Michelle miserable and driving you crazy out of your skull with her mind games; no Danny making things worse with his crazy, unsteady behaviour and paranoia.

A whole day off she could spend shopping for a nice dress, getting her nails done and fixing her hair a million times in a million different ways before she decided she looked good enough for the occasion (or at least that's what you liked thinking she would spend the day doing).

A whole day off you could spend preparing all the little, beautiful details you had thought of. Those little, beautiful details you knew that would make your first date with her amazing.

Taking Michelle Dessler out on a date was something you had fantasized over a billion times ever since you had come to admit to yourself that you liked her as more than a co-worker you had a friendly, healthy relationship with. Now these dreams were twenty four hours away from happening. Those dreams you thought would never become true because the wounds Nina had left you with seemed impossible to heal, wounds that everyone had assumed would keep you from falling in love again, they were about to come true.

At six o'clock you would pick her up at her apartment, a dozen of red roses held by your shaking hand. She would thank you for the flowers and say she needs to put them in a vase. You would compliment her, you would tell her just how incredibly beautiful she's looking; she would blush, you would tell her there's no reason to blush, that every word you said you meant, and she would smile and blush again after thanking you once more.

Then, you would walk her to your car and open the door for her; during the car drive you would do some small talk, shy smiles upon both your faces as you try to make the butterflies fly away, get over your nervousness and break the ice.

At the movie theatre you would buy her popcorn and a Coke (you knew she loved Coke: she could live off of it and coffee and need nothing more to feed her hunger), you would let her pick a movie you'd definitely not be paying attention to because you would be very, very busy with your eyes fixed not on the big screen but on her face, taking all the time in the world to admire her breathtaking beauty while she laughed and sighed at the film playing.

Afterwards, you'd have dinner at a nice Italian restaurant (you know the owner: she is the wife of your best friend from college, so it didn't really take you much effort getting reservations for the best placed table). You would talk about anything and everything: work, family, favorites (music genres, bands, actors, actresses, food, countries, cities, sports and all different subjects you could think of) in order to get to know each other better. Dinner would be full of smiles, laughter, some comfortable moments of silence you would spend looking at her straight in the eyes, making her blush again, and maybe you even would dare to hold her hand in yours across the table over a nice cup of coffee and a delicious piece of chocolate cake (another thing you knew she loved: chocolate).

Next, you would suggest taking a walk on the beach under the moon and star lit sky; that would be the perfect scenario for a second, much sweeter and slower than the first one kiss - you would initiate it this time for a change - before asking her to be your girlfriend. She would make you the happiest human being alive by saying _yes_, and after hearing that answer you would shower her with more kisses. Right after that, you would take her back home and promise her you would dream of her angelical face all night and that you would call her first time in the morning to hear the magical sound of her voice caressing your ears before meeting with her for breakfast.

That was your idea of a perfect first date. That was what you had planned. But that wasn't what would take place the night of your supposed much deserved day off. What you had planned was far from being what would happen on your first date with her.

Here it's what actually happened: you were woken up from a beautiful Michelle-centric dream two hours earlier than the time your clock alarm was set to go off by the ring of your cell phone. On the other side of the line you were met by the voice of a very '_I'm_ _in the mood to piss you off with my attitude_' Ryan Chappelle, who without even apologizing for disturbing your sleep told you new leads related to active protocols had just come out to surface and both the director of the Counter Terrorist Unit of Los Angeles and his Chief of Staff needed to be there, serving their country. To cut it short: both yours and Michelle's days off had just gotten officially cancelled.

You got up, took a quick shower and left within twenty minutes, praying to God that taking care of the situation wouldn't steal from you more than a couple of hours, so you would be able to have the rest of the day off and then it wouldn't be necessary postponing your plans for the night.

You weren't that lucky, of course.

You – both of you – had to spend the one that was supposed to be your so much deserved day off working the hardest you could, dealing with Chloe O'Brian's lack of social skills, hating Ryan Chappelle in silence and constantly eyeing the clock, wanting it all to be over as soon as possible.

It could be seen in her eyes that the same thoughts were going on in her head, the same thoughts that were going on in yours. Every time your gaze met hers, you could see exactly how she was feeling and what she was thinking: she wanted to be out of there, she wanted to be at home, getting ready for her date with you and she was as worried as you were that you would have to call it off and postpone it if things weren't solved soon.

By the time your wish finally came true and you were free to leave the building, twelve hours had been 'wasted' with CTU related stuff and it could be read in that clock you had been obsessively eyeing that it was 8 pm.

What would you do? Where would you go? Home? Would you tell her you'd take her out on a date the following Friday?

No, you didn't want to do that.

You wanted to take her out on a date _that_ night; deep inside you still wanted things to go as planned, although you knew that wouldn't be possible, but you did want to spend the evening with her anyway, get to share some time with her, get to kiss her and ask her if she wanted to be your girlfriend (it sounded like something a thirteen years old teenager would say and you were aware of it, but you didn't care: that was the way you felt, and you weren't ashamed of it, you weren't ashamed of admitting it).

Maybe things couldn't go the way they had been planned from the start, but with some changes here and there you still could take her out on that magic, perfect, impossible to forget date.

Judging by the fact that she hadn't left yet, it occurred to you that she was probably waiting for you to say something about what you would do next.

You walked your way to where she was standing and couldn't help but to smile: she was beautiful, so beautiful it hurt to look at her at moments like those, when she was tired and worn out from a hellish day, had barely any make up on and her hair was fixed on a loosen pony tail with some curls that were too short framing her face. Your mind was crossed by another thought: when she was that natural, she was perfect, too perfect.

"Michelle…" you called her name and the lips you hoped you would be soon kissing curled into the smile you loved so much.

Before she had the chance to say anything, you went on talking in whispers while trying to act as professional as achievable, so co-workers around you wouldn't sense what was really going on between the two of you: "I know that what happened today with those protocols ruined pretty much everything we had planned for tonight…" frustration and disappointment were there on her exotic eyes before you could keep on talking: she was surely thinking you were turning her off completely, she was surely thinking you were calling it off "… But I still want to get to spend some time with you, maybe grab something to eat and go to the beach... We are both tired and all, I know, so it's okay if you don't wanna…" there it was again: her smile, that smile you were in love with.

"Of course I want to" she cut you off, that smile of hers causing your heart to melt "I have a change of clothes here, nothing too special, but if you give me a minute, I'll be right back and we can go somewhere"

"Okay, I'll go do the same" you said, and once again couldn't help but to grin like the fool you were for her.

The 'dinner and a movie' date you had planned wouldn't be possible, but at least you would get to be near her, sharing the same space, sharing the same air. You were hopeful you would get to hold her hand, take a walk on the beach with her by your side and tell her how you felt after kissing those edible, tempting lips of hers.

Maybe everything wasn't ruined after all, you thought, and you found yourself grinning again.

While you showered, you quickly came up with a new plan: since it was too late to go to the movies, you would go straight to the dinner part; you both needed to have a decent meal after the horrible, unexpected shift you had just pulled, but you couldn't go to your friends' restaurant wearing jeans and cotton t-shirts, mainly because it would make Michelle feel uncomfortable since the rest of the diners would be all dressed up and you were sure she would feel out of place (you knew her oh so well) and the last thing you wanted was for her not to be at ease - especially after the day she had just spent trying to prove anyone and _herself_ she was capable of being good at her new position -, so you thought it would be better if you took her to a nice, small café near the beach you knew of, where you could relax and let tiredness and adrenaline wear off.

Twenty minutes later, you were on your way there, with a smiling Michelle sitting on the passenger seat of your car laughing at something funny you had just said.

"I love your laughter" the words just got out before your brain had time to process them.

She blushed.

"Thank you" that was her shy reply.

"You're really beautiful, Michelle" you went on, eyes still on the road, your brain still not processing the words that escaped your lips. She was blushing again, harder, it was easy to tell.

"I'm not… I'm not used to getting compliments" she confessed after a moment of silence, just when you were pulling the car over in front of the place you had chosen for dinner "So most of the time I'm caught off guard and… and 'thank you' is all I can say and I blush like an idiot… and..." her cheeks were all reddish, even redder than before, which you found absolutely adorable. To you she had always looked so shy, so innocent, so inexperienced… Before you knew what you were doing and being guided basically just by your rawest instincts like when you had told her you loved her laughter some moments ago, you cupped her face with your hands and slowly brought it closer to yours as you whispered:

"In my opinion, you're even prettier when you blush, Michelle"

And then, then you did something you had definitely not planned, because it was supposed to happen at the end of your date: you kissed her. Sweetly, slowly and gently, your lips and hers moved together against each other. Neither tried to intensify or deepen the kiss because after the arduous, demanding day you had just had all you needed was to feel the other's pure tenderness without unprocessed emotions like fear, hysteria or fatigue getting in between like it had happened the first time, making that first kiss start and end in a blur of crude and barely enjoyable passion. Right then, you needed nothing but to caress her lips with yours in an almost naïve, almost childlike display of love. At that moment, you truly felt like a teenager giving his first kiss, not only because of the atmosphere of innocence and shyness the act was wrapped up in, but also because of the butterflies you had in your stomach making its walls tickle with their little wings.

An eternity later you both pulled away at the same time, but just an inch, so both your noses were almost touching and her forehead was resting on yours. You hadn't opened your eyes yet, and neither had she. Her face was still cupped in your hands and by the warmth it was giving off it could be easily deducted that she was blushing harder than ever.

Silence lay between you two for some time, but you couldn't have told if seconds or minutes or hours had passed since the moment the kiss had ended until the moment she opened her eyes and softly spoke to you:

"Thank you"

"For what?" you asked, opening your eyes as well. You couldn't believe it was _her_ thanking _you _when it should have been _you_ thanking _her _for giving you the chance to trust someone again. It should have been you thanking her for giving you the chance to believe in love again. It should have been you thanking her for giving you the chance to opening up to someone again. It should have been you thanking her for starting slow but surely healing the wounds of your heart.

Your gaze was holding hers, and what you saw in her eyes was the purest mixture of emotions: there was love in there. There was admiration in there. There was trust in there. There was need in there. She loved you, she admired you, she trusted you, and she needed you, just as much as you loved, admired, trusted and needed her. Never in the course of your entire life had you seen something more beautiful than her exotic, gorgeous eyes the moment that – by using simply three little words – she let you know that what you were seeing in her eyes and feeling in her touch as she stroked your cheeks with her fingers was true:

"For being you" after a little pause, she went on "Thank you for making me feel good about myself with your compliments. Thank you for telling me I am beautiful. Thank you for opening up to me. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for making me feel special with just the powerful effect of your kisses" she said again as she lightly brushed your lips with hers.

"Michelle, you are special to me" you whispered almost breathlessly against her mouth, and a second later you two were lost in each other's kisses and embraces again.

You had never felt so close to anyone before her. You had never loved someone the way you loved her. You had never fallen so hard for anyone, you had never thought it would be possible for you to adore someone that much. You had never enjoyed any other thing in the world as much as you enjoyed kissing her. And you had never wanted anything in your entire life more than telling her exactly how you felt.

You couldn't wait for any longer. You hadn't found yourself capable of waiting after dinner to kiss her; you had had to do it right there in your car, parked in front of where you were going to have dinner together, because the need and the urgency to taste her once more were consuming you from the inside out, and the need and urgency to pour your heart to her and tell her it was all hers were consuming you with the same fierce intensity.

You had planned otherwise, but that night nothing had gone as planned, so, why would you wait when you had the perfect moment served practically on a silver plate?

Between short kisses, you started talking:

"You know, I had tonight all planned out" she stopped playing with your upper lip and nodded silently, giving you her full attention "I was going to buy you flowers, a dozen of red roses" you said smiling, and you could have sworn you were slightly blushing. Truth be told, you had never bought a girl flowers before, the thought had never crossed your mind, but you had wanted to buy _her_ flowers because you knew the gesture would make her feel special.

"I love red roses" she gave you a peck on the lips "They're my favorites"

"Then we were going to go to the movies, I was going to take you to the best Italian restaurant where we could have spent the evening talking about everything and anything. I would have tried and worked up the courage to hold your hand across the table" yours hands were still cupping her face, so she caressed the back of them with her fingertips "Then I would have suggested we took a walk on the beach. Do you like taking walks on the beach?" you asked displaying another shy smile, as if you were unconsciously trying to make some small talk before you went into the most important part of your little speech, the part where you would ask her to be _yours_.

"I love walking on the beach. The sand is so smooth, and the sound of the waves is so soothing…" her voice was so soft hearing it was almost better than a physical caress.

"Your voice sooths me" that was another confession taken out of acting guided by raw instincts.

"Yours sooths me too"

"Then" _Don't get nervous_ you told yourself. You knew she would say _yes_, you knew what the answer to the question you were about to ask her would be. You weren't nervous because you thought there was a chance she might turn you off, no. You were nervous because you had never opened up to someone like that before; you had never been so honest about your feelings for someone before. The things you were about to say, they had never been said by you to any other human being before, and you had only dreamed of saying them to her because you never thought it would come the day you would actually had the chance to put your emotions into words "Then… I would have kissed you like I just did because you were looking so breathtakingly beautiful I couldn't help it. And between kisses, I was going to tell you I am happy I have you in my life. I was going to tell you I've been falling in love with you ever since we first met. I was going to tell you I never thought I would get over what happened with Nina, but thanks to you I did" her eyes were now getting watery with tears, tears you caught with your thumbs the moment they started streaming down her face "Thanks to you now I know what love is and how it really feels like" you gently stroked your nose against hers "I was going to tell you I find myself adoring you more and more with each passing day. I was going to tell you I think you are an amazing person" your heart was beating so fast you thought it would probably explode "I was going to ask you… if you wanted to be my girlfriend"

The words were out, finally. The question had been asked, your feelings had been exposed. Now she knew how you felt about her, now she knew what she meant to you. She knew what your intentions were. She knew just how in deep you were.

"Ask me, then" she almost dared you, half a smile crossing her face strained with tears.

You took a deep breath and let go of a sigh you never noticed you had been holding:

"Michelle, do you want to be my girlfriend?"

She giggled, just like you were sure she would, then she cupped your face with her hands and brought your lips to hers and asked between more kisses:

"That means you want to be my boyfriend?"

"It does" it came your short, simple but yet meaningful answer as you buried your hands in her curly hair "I want to be your boyfriend"

"I want you to be my boyfriend too" she was giggling again. She was smiling. She was laughing. She was glowing. She was the prettiest you had ever seen her. She was beautiful. She was _yours_ now.

It had all happened in a short amount of time, with you sitting on the driver seat of your car and her sitting on the passenger seat, in front of a small and almost empty café you stepped into five minutes later, hand in hand and still giggling with nervousness and shyness, even after all the things that have been said between you two and all the emotions that had been exposed.

Things hadn't gone as planned, no. Nothing went as planned, and you were starting to suspect that nothing ever did, but the results were the ones you were hoping for, you thought later that night after you had just kissed her goodnight on the front door of her building after having spent a lovely evening holding her hand across the table and talking about everything and anything, laughing and giggling like teenagers, sweetly kissing each other's lips, stroking noses like little kids and nuzzling in her curly hair.

Two minutes before you drifted off to sleep, you got a text message from her:

"_Thanks for tonight, my love. It feels so good knowing that we belong to each other. It was a beautiful, perfect night, and I'm happy things went the way they did. Remember what you promised me and dream of me tonight. I know I'll dream of you tonight, I always do_"

Your first date with her didn't go as planned, no. What you had planned was far from being what ended up happening. What ended up happening was way too much better than any other things you could have ever thought of.


	9. Background noise

**Author's note: **When I started to write this chapter earlier today it was going to be just a little drabble inspired by one of my favorite scenes from season two and one of my all time favorite scenes resolving around George Mason. Well, look what happened: what was going to be just a simple drabble ended up being a long one-shot (well, I don't know if I would call this a long one-shot, but it definitely is longer than what I had in my mind when I sat in front of the computer screen this morning with the idea for chapter nine playing in my head).

I hope you all like it, because I'm not sure if I do. I would have liked writing something a lot better than this, but yet again I am never happy with what I write so maybe this is not so bad after all.

Since George is a character I love and I always felt he should have had a '_find something that makes you happy and do it_' conversation with Tony before he left the CTU building for the very last time, I'm probably gonna be writing him in chapters to come, although I haven't thought about it yet. But it would be good if you told me in the review I am hoping you will leave me after you're done reading this if you would like to see some Tony-George interaction in upcoming chapters.

Okay, enough with the author's note. Here chapter nine goes (please, please, will you leave me a review once you're done reading it? Reviews make me happy, as happy as I would be if someone knocked on my door and told me Carlos Bernard wants to go out on a date with me - okay, now that's an exaggeration, haha):

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**Background Noise**

You are trying to focus on work, but you can't.

You can't focus on anything at the moment.

You are typing away at the keyboard of your desktop, you are pretending to be concentrated, but the truth is that your mind is wandering elsewhere.

The words George Mason said to you barely minutes ago surprised you, because in the entire time you have known him it never occurred to you that behind his sarcastic and harsh personality there was a wise man hiding, a man that did learn from his own mistakes after all, even if it was already too late when he finally sank in the lesson and took a moment to ponder it and absorb its meaning. He may have wasted his life away, he may have given up on his true dream because of money issues, he may have disappointed and let down his family more than once, and he may have not been the father his son deserved, but at least before the twilight of his life leads him into his very final dusk he is drawing upon his last chance to come to peace with himself before he passes away, which – to your eyes – makes him someone who deserves to be admired and always remembered, someone to feel proud of have known.

George is going to die today, or tomorrow, or during the course of the dawn, or during the first early hours of the following morning. Or maybe he is going to be dead by the end of the next hour. Who knows? All that you know is that he _is_ going to die within the next twenty four hours. He is not going to live to see another day, and if he does, then he is going to be dead before he gets the chance to see another sunset.

George Mason, Director of CTU, is going to die. George Mason, director of CTU, is at the gates of death.

And you, Michelle Dessler, if a nuke bomb doesn't go off, are going to outlive him.

You are going to live to see another day, but he is not.

He is never going to have a chance to see his dreams come true.

He is never going to have a chance to make up for the lost time with his beloved ones.

He is never going to have a chance to be a teacher.

He is never going to have a chance to drink a beer with his friends and watch the game, although for some reason you can't see him doing that. You wonder if he's got any friends left; in the case he hasn't, he is never going to have a chance to make new friends and grow close again with the ones he stopped talking to a long time ago.

He is never going to listen to his favorite music again. You don't know what kind of music he listens to – come on, you don't even know if he likes listening to music –, and you can't help but wonder. The Beatles? Led Zeppelin? Eric Clapton? Jimi Hendrix? Patti Smith? He seems like the type of guy who enjoys classic rock.

He is never going to watch his favorite movie again.

He is never going to read his favorite book again.

He is never going to write a love letter again. You wonder if he has ever written a love letter to his wife. You wonder if he has ever had a wife. You once heard he was divorced, but you don't know if that's true. You wonder why they divorced; he said he had made himself miserable and everyone around him miserable because of the bad choices he made throughout his life, and you wonder if that ex-wife you once heard of was one of the persons that suffered the consequences.

You wonder if someone has ever written a love letter to him.

All these thoughts have suddenly sadden you, and once more you do your best and try to focus on what you are supposed to be doing, but once again you find yourself incapable of, now because you are being assaulted by regrets.

You wish you had verbalized your thoughts of him somehow.

You wish you had told him how much you have come to respect him and like him not only as your boss but also as a human being.

You wish you had let him know how much you are really going to miss him.

You wish he had had his opportunity to find something that made him happy and do it. You wish he had had the opportunity to choose his dreams instead of money. You are sure things would have been a lot different if he had. You are sure his life would have been a lot better, and less miserable.

You wish you had told him you are sorry you two will never have a chance to become friends. You wish you had told him you are sorry there will never be a chance to know each other better, although that last conversation with him has made you feel as if you have known him for years instead for only just months.

You wish you hadn't walked out of his office without thanking him for that piece of advice he gave you, although in his own words he never believed himself to be a good advice giver. You do think he is a good advice giver, because the words he said to you got you thinking. The words he said to you had a real effect on you, an effect anyone's words never had on you before.

You wish you had told him all those things, but for some reason you didn't. You couldn't do it; the words were there, but your brain and tongue didn't connect in time and they died before they could be said aloud. Maybe they were never spoken because of your shyness. Maybe they were never spoken because he got you off-guard when the things he said and you couldn't react the way you would have liked at the moment. Maybe they weren't spoken because the way he opened up to you astonished you so much you were left speechless.

You wish you had said something to him, _anything_, something that would have marked him somehow, something that would have marked him the same way what he said to you did. Never in your life had someone told you something so simple and yet so deep, something with such a powerful connotation, something with such a strong significance summarized in a handful of straightforward words with an important hidden meaning.

The words George Mason said to you barely minutes ago are still working on your ears like a hammer would if someone used one to hit your head with it; they are still eating at the very fiber of your being; they are still repeating themselves over and over again like a broken record, in shuffle and nonspecific order.

You can't stop playing them in your head, they get played against your will, they get played automatically, and they get played unconsciously in your mind. Over and over again. Over and over again. Like a broken record. Even though you are trying to regain concentration, even though you are trying to ignore them and focus on what you have to do, you can't.

_So what are you gonna do tomorrow?_

What are you going to do tomorrow, Michelle? What are you going to do tomorrow if that nuke bomb doesn't go off today? What are you going to do tomorrow if you survive this day just like Tony promised you would? What are you going to do tomorrow? Have you thought about it? Are you going to wake up at 6 am, have a cup of coffee for breakfast and a slice of bread without toast because you haven't learned how not to ruin toast yet? Are you going to go in really early because you feel alone at home and loneliness is something that drives you crazy although you are reluctant to admit it? Are you going to spend all day in front of a computer screen and with your fingers tipping on keyboard keys? Are you going to go home at 6 pm to an empty, cold apartment? Are you going to watch some TV while you eat your Chinese take out? Are you going to go to bed early like you always do? Are you going to live another day swallowing down your feelings for _him_? Are you going to cry yourself to sleep because you are in love with him but you don't have what it takes to go and tell him how you feel? Are you going to dream of him all night like you always do, those dreams you never do anything in order to make come true because you are too shy, too innocent, too insecure and way too inexperienced? Are you going to wake up the morning after tomorrow to repeat it all again? Are you going to give yourself to routine?

_If the bomb doesn't go off…_

Will the bomb go of? Will you be able to stop it from going off?

Earlier today _he_ brushed your neck with his soft hand for a brief but glorious moment and promised you everything would be okay. He promised you two would survive today. _He_ looked at you in the eyes and promised it; _he_ looked into your eyes with his and gave you his word you two would survive today. And you believed him, of course, not only because you needed something to believe in at that moment in which you were in a voulnerable state, but also because he is the man you love and you would never doubt of this man's words.

So if he is right, if the bomb doesn't go off… What are you going to do tomorrow if the bomb doesn't go off? Have you thought about it, Michelle?

You have already thought about it and you have decided you are not going to let tomorrow be a repetition of the events that have been taken place in your life: work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep. That's all you do: you work, you eat and then you go to sleep (you love sleeping, because it's in your dreams that you can really have him, it's in your dreams that he is _yours_).

You don't know what you are going to do tomorrow, but you do know what you are not going to do from tomorrow on.

You don't know what you are going to do tomorrow, but you do know you are not going to swallow down your love for him anymore.

_You're happy in this job, hmm?_

Now you take a minute to analyze this question. Yes, you are. Yes, you are happy with this job: it's challenging, it's interesting and it helps saving lives of innocent people. And thanks to this job you met _him_, the man you are in love with, the man you have been in love with ever since he introduced himself to you on your first day there months ago. Here in CTU and thanks to this job you met _him_, you got to know _him_, you learned valuable things from _him_, you came to deeply admire _him_, you became friends with him and you fell head over heels in love with _him_.

You are happy in this job because _he_ is there. But you aren't happy with your life outside this job because he isn't there, he is not really a part of it. That's something you wish you had the courage to change. That's something you know you _must_ change, or at least try to change.

That's something you know you won't die without trying to change.

_Don't wait around for your life to happen to you._

You have heard those words before, you have read those words before (come on, they were a well known _cliché_), but they had never been directly said to you before, not until today. And did they hit you hard. Hearing those words had on you an effect you couldn't describe even if you tried. It was a weird effect, a weird sensation they gave you, as if something had clicked in your head.

Time doesn't wait.

Time never stops.

Clocks keep ticking.

Clockwise don't stop moving.

Time passes by so quickly…

One day you are here, and the next you aren't.

One day the persons you love are here, and who knows if the next day they will still be here? When CTU got bombed earlier today and for a brief, horrible couple of seconds you thought he had died... God, were you scared. God, did your heart ache blady. God, did you think for a moment he had died without you having the opportunity to talk to him about your deepest feelings.

One day you wake up without knowing that it will be your last day on Earth, and by the time you realize it, it's definitely too late. George woke up this morning without knowing it will be his last day on Earth.

Are you going to sit there in front of that computer screen and wait for your life to happen to you? Or are you going to do something about it before it's too late?

_Find something that makes you happy, and do it._

You have already found that _something_ that could make you happy (it's a _someone_ and not a _something_, truth be told), you have found it a long time ago, but you haven't got the chance to do it… yet. You haven't got the chance to let _him_ know you feel something for him, that you would like him to be more than a co-worker, something more than a friend.

You know you love _him_. You know you are in love with _him_. You know you want to be with _him_ so badly it almost hurts to breathe if he is not there to share the same air with you. You know _he_ could make you happy, and you also know you could make _him_ happy, you know you could help him dealing with some of his issues, you know you could heal his wounds, you know you could teach him how to trust again, you know you could get him to open up to you if you tried.

You know he could make you the happiest woman alive.

So what are you waiting for? You have already found something that could bring happiness into your life, now you only have to go and do it.

You have to work up some courage and do it, before you wake up someday just to figure out it's already too late.

You can sense there is something going on between you two; you have felt it for a long time ago now. You can sense there has always been something hanging on between the two of you, so why don't you give it a shot? If you don't act on it, then the chance might slip away and you will never know what could have happened. If you don't act on it, then you could regret it tomorrow, you can be sure of it.

You have just decided that, if you get to see another day, you want to live the rest of your life without dealing with regrets and with the consequences of bad decisions.

If you get to see another sunrise, you want to see it with him, wrapped up in his arms.

If you get to live another day, you want to live it by his side.

You have just decided you will wait no more around for your life to happen to you.

You have just decided you will follow George's advice… right now. And whether it goes the way you want it to go or not, you are going to do it: you won't wait around four your life to happen anymore. You have already found that something that can – and hopefully will – make you happy and nothing is going to stop you from trying to get it.

And if in the future everything gets screwed up, at least you'll know you tried.

And if the bomb does go off today and you don't get to see another sunrise, then at least you'll know you tried.

And if Tony turns you off and breaks your heart by telling you he won't go out with you, well, at least you tried. You'd be defeated in that case, yes; and the heartache would be the killing type, you are aware of that too; and the pain would be unbearable, and things would get awkward between you and him and you will never be able to look at him in the eyes again, but well, at least in the future you will remember today and know you did try. At least in the future you won't have to live dealing with regrets and _whatifs_.

And if you do get to live another day because the bomb doesn't go off, and nothing gets screwed up and he _is_ the one you will be saving yourself for and waiting for during all of your life and you have your happy ending with him… Well, then, in the future, you will be glad someone gave you an excellent piece of advice. Then, you will be happy someone you never got to know until the last hours of his existence told you it was a waste of time waiting around for your life to happen and that you had to find something that could bring happiness into your life and do it. Then you will be glad you went and did it. Then you will be glad you did try. Then you will be glad you focused on what mattered and fought for your happiness.

_Because everything else is all just background noise._


	10. Eternity

**Eternity**

Eternal things last forever.

Things that last forever are eternal.

They know no beginning and neither do they know an end.

Your love for her is eternal, it's immortal: it will never die, it will live forever.

To the English language _eternity_ is time without end.

It's the state of time after death, which is said to last forever.

It's a very long time which seems endless.

Eternity is what you promised her you two would spend together.

Eternity in your arms is what you promised her, and she promised you eternity in hers.

Time without end spent in her arms.

Time after death, which is said to last forever, spent in her arms.

A very long time which seems endless spent in her arms.

She promised you her eternity, and you gave her the promise of yours.

You close your eyes and think of your perfect eternity with her, you think of how it will be: her arms squeezing your tightly, tighter than ever. Her hands buried in your hair, gently stroking it. Your body buried in hers. Her breathing and yours even, relaxed, synchronized. Your heartbeat and hers matched, harmonized. Her eyes and yours locked. Her perfume the only essence you can smell. The silent air caressed by beautiful whispered words that are the only audible sound.

Time without end spent making love to her.

Time after death, which is said to last forever, spent making love to her.

A very long time which seems endless spent making love to her.

Eternity you promised her you would spend making love to her.

You don't care spending the next twenty, thirty years of your life locked behind bars.

You don't care spending the next twenty, thirty years of your life starting at the same four, white walls.

You don't care spending the next twenty, thirty years of your life imprisoned.

She is alive, she is safe, she wasn't hurt, and that is something you can live with, even in prison.

The thought of an eternity spent with Michelle is what keeps you going every day.

That thought and the promise of an eternity calming her fears, soothing her, kissing her eyelids and rocking her to sleep just like you used to are what keep you alive and going.

Her eternity is yours and yours is her, and knowing that, knowing that you can survive everything, you can endure everything, you can handle everything, even in prison.


	11. Happy tears

**Happy tears**

The car has been silent for the last ten minutes, and the last ten minutes have felt like an eternity.

The sound of Jack's voice thanking you for what you have just done for him still echoes. The sound of the poor man's last farewell still echoes. And the sound of Audrey's cries of pain when she was told her lover had died still echoes, and it feels like a knife cutting into your flesh: that woman would never see the man she loves again and she will spend the rest of her existence believing he is dead.

Thoughts of what would have been of you if Tony had died in that explosion play right before your eyes for a brief second.

You would have died too.

You would have stopped eating (not that you have been eating a lot or properly lately). You would have stopped sleeping (you haven't had a full night of sleep ever since the day he was taken away). You would have stopped functioning. The heartache, the pain, the depression would have ended up killing you.

But he is alive, safe and sound.

And he is there with you, sitting on the driver seat of your car, parked in the driveway of your house, waiting for you to do something or say something. His hand is caressing all the way up and down your arm, and goose bumps are popping up everywhere your body.

You entwine your fingers with his and – using all the strength you are capable of mustering after that day from Hell – smile at him, as tears of happiness and relief fill your eyes and start streaming down your beautiful face, as a visible and tangible symbol of the emotional release your soul, heart and body are being washed over by.

With the tip of his fingers he dries off the tears as they fall. His thumbs slowly draw the outline of your lips before seconds later he caresses them with his.

His mouth is an inch away from yours; he is inhaling the air you exhale and you are inhaling the air he exhales.

The whispered words make you shiver all over and his pleading causes you to shudder almost violently.

"Don't cry… _please_"

You brush your thumb against his cheek and smile again.

"These are happy tears" you assure him in whispers as well "I'm happy because you are here with me" you explain, although you know explanations are not needed. You nuzzle the crook of his neck and then rest your head on his chest. You don't want to go home yet, you don't want to show him where you have been living during the last six months, drowning in misery, pain and bitter loneliness, being haunted by nightmares and memories of both good and bad times.

Right now, you just want to stay there, in your car, sitting on the passenger seat, leaning forward him, with your head on his chest as you let your happiness be expressed in the shape of tears. Right now, you just need to listen to his heart beat. Right now, you just need to listen to his breathing.

He kisses the top of your head, he strokes your hair with one hand and your back with the other, and allows his own tears of happiness to fall as he - between soft sobs - says to you over and over again that he loves you more than life itself and that he will always take care of you.

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	12. Portuguese

**Portuguese**

She is there, standing in front of the kitchen counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee on a Saturday morning when you surprise her by wrapping both your arms around her waist and stroking her belly with your hands, drawing circles with the tip of your fingers around her belly button.

She giggles, and it's a sound that drives you crazy. You lower your head and start nuzzling her neck and kissing every inch of exposed skin, which makes her giggle even more.

You put your mouth next to her ear and for a moment you just enjoy the fact that her body shivers every time you caress any part of it with your breath.

"_Eu te amo muito, minha princesa. __Muito e sempre"_

"That's not Spanish" she points, and to your own surprise then she turns into your embrace and, looking at you in the eyes, adds "That was Portuguese, _meu amor_"

Before you have the time to ask her where she has learned it, you feel her warm lips tugging at your bottom one, asking for permission to deepen the kiss, permission that you more than willing give her.

And as the hunger and passion increase, the words she said to you – _my love_ – get replayed in your mind over and over again. You can't help but to find it arousing.

You love it when she attempts to speak in Spanish: she's so cute, so adorable, so lovable, and so kissable when she does… You simply love it. But now you have just discovered she also knows some Portuguese, and the sound of that language being spoken by her has to be one of the most beautiful sounds you have ever had the pleasure to hear.

Yes: it really arouses you.

"I love you so much" you manage to say between kisses when you feel her hands grabbing both sides of your head and pulling you closer. Her fingers are playing with your hair, and yours are playing with hers, like you always do when you two kiss.

Breakfast is suddenly forgotten. And as you slowly make love to your wife on the kitchen counter, you whisper in her ears how much you love and adore her not in Spanish like you usually do, but in Portuguese.


	13. Before

**Before**

Before he became your everything, the centre of your simple, little Universe, you used to wake up to the annoying sound of an alarm clock going off, announcing that it was time to get up and get ready for a new day that promised to be as long and as automatic like the previous one had been. And every morning you felt sad and lonely, like an empty shell.

Before he decided to cook his especial recipes for you every night so you would know what real, fresh food tasted like, you had to survive on frozen dinners, take out and pizza because you didn't even know how the oven worked and you were afraid of burning the apartment down if you tried learning by yourself (the cooking lessons he insisted on teaching you didn't serve of much either, but at least he was there to control you and prevent you from risking the safety of the entire building).

Before he held you in his protective arms and comforted you in the middle of a dark hallway while you desperately cried and repeated all over and over again that you were tired and scared, that you couldn't help it but to blame yourself for the bad things that had happened to your brother and his family, that you couldn't carry such a terrible weight on your shoulders for any longer, before that moment you didn't know how feeling _safe_, _really_ _safe_ was like.

Before he promised you the world, the moon and the stars, before he promised you he would always love you, respect you and protect you, before he asked you to be his wife and spend the rest of your eternity in his embrace, you didn't know crying could be so meaningful and neither did you know happy tears could be so beautiful and sweet when they fell from your lover's eyes and were caught by your lips as they streamed down his face.

Before he spent nights to no end whispering in your ears just how beautiful, gorgeous, angelic, stunning, pretty and sweet you were you had never thought of yourself as an attractive woman. Your self-steam had always been lower than average when it came to your looks, but he had managed to change that: he had known exactly what to do and what to say to convince you otherwise.

Before he became your everything, the centre of your simple, little Universe, you were like an empty shell. Your life was unfilled and you felt sad and lonely. You got up, went to work, spent all day working really hard, went back home, had one of your frozen dinners, watched some TV and then went to sleep feeling as miserable and as lost as you had felt when you had woken up. Every day was a clone of the day that had died the night before until you met him, and along with him drastic changes invaded your life: he became your everything, the centre of your simple, little Universe and you felt sad and lonely no more. You felt miserable and lost no more.

And now, after tragedy hit yours and his life, you are back right to the start: you get up, you go to work, you spend all day working really hard, you go back to your house (that house is not your home because home is where he is), you eat one of your frozen dinners and then go straight to bed because you don't even have the strength to stay up for any longer and make an effort to distract yourself by turning the TV on. The night is spent crying into your pillow, muffling the sobs and the screams of pain. And then, then when morning comes you automatically get up and the vicious circle repeats itself once more.

Before he was taken away, you were happy. You really were the happiest woman alive.

But that was before, and this is now.

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	14. Roman holiday

**Roman holiday**

_Roman h__oliday_ ranks among her list of all time favorite movies because the music, the story, the scenario, the couple, the actors and the leading actress _always_ make her smile.

Old, made during the decade of the fifties, black and white films would actually not be your first choice, but _Roman holiday_'s got to be one of your all time favorite movies too: seeing her smile awakes in you the most overwhelming, powerful, pleasant emotions, emotions you couldn't describe even if your life depended on it because they're just too complex (and yet are they the simplest ones). Butterflies grow in your stomach every time that smile crosses her face, especially when she doesn't even notice she is smiling.

It's a movie she loves watching on her days off or on rainy weekends, and do you love joining her on those occasions. You lay there on the couch with a blanket; she nests in your chest, turns the DVD on, presses the play button and you get to spend the next hour and a half or so playing with her brown, reddish curls and admiring her smile when you are supposed to be paying attention to the onscreen couple.

"Tony, the movie is the other way" she would always tell you at some point, and you would always laugh at how you still manage to make her blush by staring at her as if she were the most incredible, interesting person in the whole world while she is focused on something else.

Then you would gently kiss her forehead and whisper in her ear:

"You enjoy your movie; I'd rather enjoy the beautiful smile of my beautiful wife"

And at this, her cheeks would turn even redder and smile even wider but won't say anything; she would return her attention to the movie and spend the rest of it in silence, her body nested in your chest, securely wrapped up in your arms, sighing happily from time to time.

And you, you would enjoy every single minute of it.

_Roman h__oliday_ definitely is one of your favorite movies, even though you really have no idea what it is about.


	15. He is

**He is**

He is kissing your pain away.

He is licking your wounds so they heal.

He is fixing all the damage you have been done with every caress his hands drop on your flawless skin.

He is brushing the tears off your face with his fingertips.

He is whispering sweet promises in your ears.

He is the only one who knows how to revive you when you are feeling dead inside.

He is the only one who can make you feel alive.

He is the only one who can make you feel _at all_

He is the reason why you were born: to be his, to devote your life to him, just like he devotes his life to you.

He is your Universe.

He is your world.

He is the one you would die for.

He is the one you couldn't breathe without.

He is the one you _wouldn't_ breathe without.

He is the only lover you've known.

He is you're one and only.

He is your soul mate. You've known it all along: you soul and his are two halves of the same piece.

He is your other half. Without him you feel incomplete. Without him, you would die.

He is everything you want, everything you love, everything you need.

He is yours. And you are his.


	16. You two are my whole world

**You two are my whole world**

With your head resting on her naked stomach and your body laying flat on yours, you close your eyes and take a deep breath, inhaling her sweet perfume before you start dropping little butterfly kisses all around her belly button.

"I can't believe it is finally gonna happen" she whispers in a day-dreaming tone of voice.

One of her hands is playing with your dark, curly hair as the other caresses all the way up and down your back "Our baby is going to be here in only seven months"

"I can't wait" your voice is muffled by her skin, that it's still being touched by your lips.

"Me neither, sweetheart"

Moving slowly, hovering over her, you crawl on top of her again. One of your arms comes to wrap itself around her hourglass waist; your mouth is an inch away from hers and your noses are touching. You look deeply into her almond shaped eyes and stroke her cheek gently. For a minute you just stay there, quiet, fallen in silence, just cherishing this intimate moment, enjoying how it feels like to hold and cuddle each other.

"You're gonna be the most beautiful, perfect mom, Michelle" you say as a raw, deep emotion washes over you from the inside out and tears of happiness form in your eyes.

She smiles, shyly, cradling your face with her hands.

"And you're gonna be the most amazing, incredible dad" she says softly as you catch with your thumb a single tear that falls and starts streaming down her pretty doll face.

Emotions are overwhelming for her too.

You feel her warm lips kissing the way down your forehead to your nose, to your chin, all in unhurried motion.

"Do you think it knows how much we love it?" she asks, rubbing her nose against yours very gently, your gaze still locked with hers.

"Of course it does" it's your reply, and the hand that is wrapped around her waist comes to rest on her stomach "It knows its mommy and daddy love it more than anything in this world" you pause. Stillness follows "I love you two more than anything in this world" your voice it's barely audible because you are so overwhelmed but all the emotions you are feeling you can hardly speak, but she reads your lips as they move "_You two_ are my whole world"


	17. The girl I used to be

**The girl I used to be**

Each word was dictated by your heart, each thought was held not by your mind but by your soul, that if one comes to think about it, it is not yours anymore because you have given it to him completely.

Now your soul belongs to him, so do your heart and body.

With a shy smile printed on your face and a red tint colouring your cheeks, you sigh happily as you re-read for the tenth time the paragraphs of the first love letter you have written in all of your existence.

_To my dearest Tony, the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me in my entire life, the only thing I need to be happy and at peace,_

_My baby, I'm not a writer, I'm not a poet, I'm not a musician, I can't even find the proper way to express to you every day how much I love you; three words are not enough, in my opinion, and they will never be. Three words cannot be meaningful enough when it comes to describe my love for you, sweetheart. They haven't been invented yet, they don't exist yet, the words that could come close to explain how I feel about you, so this won't be a long letter._

_These words __I am about to write will never be enough to express myself, I know, but what can't be said by using them, I hope you can feel it in my touch, in my kisses, when I hold you, when you hold me, I hope you can hear it in my voice, see it in my eyes, be overwhelmed by it when I make love to you, be possessed by it when you make love to me._

_Baby, you are my life, my world, my universe, my everything, my beginning and my end__, the why to all my reasons and the reason to all my whys. I am in heart, body and soul yours completely. Because you complete me: you fill all those holes I had that I thought would never be filled; you heal all those wounds I had that I thought would never be healed. _

_You always tell me stories when I can't sleep at night, you hold me tightly and whisper them in my ears until I fall asleep in your warm embrace. Now I want to tell you a story:_

_Once up on a time there was a girl who thought of herself as an empty shell. A shy, lonely girl who had never known love and devoted herself to work because that way she could escape her self-isolation, a girl who was afraid of connecting to any other human being in any deep, meaningful level because she couldn't trust anyone not to hurt her. She didn't want to know what love was, until she met you, and all of a sudden she found herself falling in love with you, even if she didn't want to, even if she was scared and at first didn't know what to do, even if she had sworn to herself she would never love. But she met you, and everything changed._

_Now this girl has changed.__ Now she feels she is empty no more, now she knows how it feels like to be whole. You are the home she always longed for but never had until she took a chance with you; you are her other half, the half she thought would never exist for her because for some reason she didn't think she deserved to love and be loved._

_You changed everything. That shy, lonely, little girl who didn't know what love was and thought of herself as the ugly duckling, that girl who pretended to be tough and strong at work but was weak and needy inside, that girl who could fight terrorism but couldn't fight her own nightmares, insecurities and fears, you and the love you gave her so unselfishly changed her. You helped that girl become a woman; you helped that girl feel beautiful; you taught that girl what love was; you made that girl your princess. You saved her life._

_You know who that girl was? That girl was me. That was the girl I used to be._

_You saved my life. How could I not devote it to you? How could I not want to spend the rest of my existence devoting myself to you? You are and will always be my first and only love, my soul mate, my other half (my best half), my one and only, my prince. The happiness you bring me… Never in all my life did I think I would ever be this happy, but you make it possible._

_Some times in the past I would ask myself what my purpose on this life was, and I would always find the answer in helping others, saving other people's lives, helping avoiding disasters and tragedies. _

_Now, I know__ I was wrong. You are my purpose on life. I was born to be yours, forever, to belong to you, to give you my mind, heart, soul and body. I was put on this Earth for that: being yours. _

_Tony, I love you, so much sometimes when I'm not with you physically it hurts to breathe, to think, to exist, to be. I love you, I adore you, I need you, I admire you, I worship you, I respect you, I am madly, deeply, passionately, purely, helplessly in love with you. _

_And this love will last forever, for as long as I live, until the moment of my last breathing, which I hope I will take in y__our arms. And I will love you even after I am gone, because my eternity will be as yours as I am. _

_Thank you for making out of the lost girl I used to be this strong, confident, beautiful woman I am today. I don't feel like the ugly duckling I once thought I was anymore: now I feel like a princess. All because of you and your love, all because of you and the happiness you bring into my life._

You stop reading.

You are so overwhelmed by these emotions burning you up from the inside, wander all over your stomach in the shape of butterflies, caressing it with their wings, making it tickle; you are so overwhelmed by your love for him you don't know how to put it down in words anymore, this you feel is beyond description, beyond words. There are a million feelings making your heart pound faster and faster right now as you try to write the last sentences, a million feelings you would like to express, but you don't know how to do so. You can't, it's impossible.

You close your eyes for a moment and enjoy the tickling sensation of butterflies in your stomach.

You open your eyes five minutes later, and start re-reading the words you wrote for the eleventh time.

That girl you once were before you met him and fell in love with him would have never known how to write a love letter.

Thanks to him, the woman you are today does know how to at least try to express with words the overwhelming emotions she feels.

* * *

Reviews are always highly appreciated, even anonymus reviewers are welcomed. I just wanna know you're reading this, a word or two would make me really happy.


	18. Hey, beautiful

**Hey, beautiful**

Her phone rings.

She picks it up.

"Dessler"

You smile from ear to ear, delighted by the sound of her voice, even if the only thing she said was her last name.

"Hey, beautiful"

You can't see her, but you know she is smiling.

Your voice always makes her smile.

"Tony, it's the fifth time you call me in less than two hours" she giggles.

This was supposed to be a day off you both would share together, your first day off as a married couple after the rushed three days honeymoon Ryan Chappelled had allowed you to have, but she got called in early this morning and all your plans went out the window in a second.

You have been only married and living together for two weeks and four days, and you hate every single instant you are obligated to spend without her.

Truth be told, you have been hating every single instant you have been obligated to spend without her even since that day you got together four months ago, forty eight hours after the events that took place the day CTU was bombed and Paula, George and other co-workers of yours died.

Yes, only four months have passed, and you have already made her your wife. Rushed, some say, but you don't think it was: you love her more than anything, she is your everything, and you are hers. You are the love of her life, and she is yours. You are soul mates, it was written in the stars that you were meant for each other, that you were born for each other. Why wait, then?

"I can't help it, baby, I miss you" you say.

"I miss you too, baby" she whispers softly.

"Minutes drag when I'm not with you" you complain.

"Try to enjoy your day off, sweetheart"

"It was supposed to be _our_ day off" you protest again.

"I know" she sighs.

"I can't enjoy _anything_ when you are not here to enjoy it with me. It's your entire fault I depend on you so much to be happy and content and functional" you pretend to blame it on her "I can't hold a single thought in my mind that is not related to you" you go on "I tried watching a movie, but I never got to know what it was about because I couldn't stop thinking of you. I tried listening to music: all songs reminded me of you. I tried cooking…"

"If you tell me cooking reminds you of me, I won't believe you" she chuckles.

"… It reminds me of how adorable you look when I let you stir the noodles. Or how incredibly sweet it was when we attempted cooking together four days into our relationship and it was all a mess and you started crying asking me if I was disappointed in you…"

"… And you took me in your arms, spun me around and swore you could never be disappointed in me" she finishes your sentence, and you know her smile has grown wider.

"Ever since that day I always spin you around when I want to cheer you or me up"

"And it never fails" she declares.

"It never fails" you agree.

"Tony, I gotta go, Chloe is looking at me accusingly from her desk. She knows I am talking to you" she says.

"Baby, she doesn't, she is not a mind reader and she is sitting like four desks away from you, there is no way she'd be able to listen to what you're saying, so relax"

You don't want her to hang up again just yet. You love talking to her, hearing her voice, it's the best feeling in the world when you are not able to hold her in your arms, kiss her and spin her around.

"Honey, I'm grinning like an idiot, sighing each two seconds, playing with my curls like a nervous fifteen years old girl and I'm pretty sure the butterflies that wander my stomach whenever you talk to me somehow can be seen in my eyes. So yeah, Chloe knows, and yes, I gotta hang up because if I don't she's gonna go to Jack and complain, and I don't wanna be lectured by him… again"

"We pretty much deserved it the first time he lectured us" you remind her "She caught us passionately making out in an empty hallway. I think we traumatized her for life" you laugh, and she does too.

God, do you love the sound of her laughter.

"Sweetheart, I gotta go" you know she doesn't want to, but she's right: she should be working and you should be 'enjoying' or at least 'trying to enjoy' your day off.

"I love you" you sough tenderly "So very much you just have no idea"

"I love you more. Bye, baby"

And then she hangs up, and you are back to being bored while missing her madly and praying that hours would pass by faster than this, so the time when she goes home back to your arms comes sooner.

Two hours and four failed attempts to distracting yourself later, you find yourself dialling the number to her station.

Her phone rings.

She picks it up.

"Dessler"

You smile from ear to ear, delighted by the sound of her voice, even if the only thing she said was her last name.

"Hey, beautiful"


	19. Mornings

**Mornings**

Waking up without his arms holding you tightly kills you.

It feels as if someone were ripping your heart out. Every morning, your heart is ripped out.

Waking up to pain, sadness, loneliness... It's destructive.

It feels as if your soul were being torn apart piece by piece. Every morning, your soul is torn apart piece by piece.

Waking up and not hearing his voice soothingly whispering sweet nothings in your ears makes you want to curl up in a ball, collapse, and die.

It feels as if you were just a living item and not a person, just a living item and not a human being. Yes, it feels like this. It makes you feel as if it wasn't worth living anymore. It makes you have dark thoughts four years ago you would have never believed your mind would be crossed by them. Thoughts that involve giving up on existing. You want to stop with this vicious circle that implies breathing and being stabbed in the stomach with every breath you take.

Every morning when you wake up and find the left side of the bad empty and cold, you wish you were dead. You wish he hadn't saved you. You wish you had died. God, some times you wish you had never been born, so he would have never met you, you would have never fallen in love, you would have never lost every ounce of willpower to each other, and you would have never developed this dependency on each other. He would have never been forced to do what he did in order to save your life. He would be a free man. He would be happy.

Every morning you wake up from dark dreams that four years ago you would have never believed one day you would have. Dreams, you dream of ending the pain on your own terms, becoming an angel, _his guardian angel_ and looking after him for as long as he lives, taking care of him for the rest of his existence, for the rest of your eternity.

Waking up and knowing you will have to face another hard day without him breaks both your heart and soul in a billion pieces.

It feels as if during the night the pieces that were shattered on the previous morning when you opened up your eyes and saw it hadn't all been a horrible nightmare and that you would have to go through another day away from him without letting the unbearable hurting show to the rest of the world are put back together, so the next morning when you wake up to the sound of your alarm going off announcing another day without the love of your life has begun your heart and soul can break again.

But those aren't the worst mornings. No, the worst mornings are when you are awaken from a sweet, tender dream and not your usual haunting memories replaying themselves over and over again torturing you.

Sweet dreams of your husband's hands roaming all over your body, and your husband's voice whispering how much he adores you in your ears, and your husband's lips kissing every inch of skin they can reach, and your husband's eyes getting lost in yours and yours getting lost in them. You dream of your husband, there, with you, on your bed, making love to you.

Those are the worst kind of dreams, and when you are awaken from them by your alarm going off, that is the signal that an awful morning has begun.

Every morning, whether the dreams you leave behind are those plagued with dark thoughts or those plagued with the memories of all different times you two made love, every morning your heart is ripped out, and your heart and soul break, and ever morning you wish you had been born, and every morning breathing is like being stabbed in the stomach, and all you want is to curl up in a ball, and collapse, and die, and end the never ending, unbearable hurting, and end this ache, and every morning you think living is not worthy anymore, and all you want to is become _his guardian angel_ and spend the rest of his life and the rest of your eternity taking care of him, looking after him. And nothing makes sense, because your poor mind is plagued by dark thoughts and memories and dreams.

Nothing has made sense ever since he was taken away, ever since you two were torn apart.

Everything stopped making sense the day they ripped your husband out your embrace.

You miss him madly every single day ever since that day, but you miss him more in the mornings.

Nothing is as terrible as the mornings; they are the worst part of your day.


	20. Only ten minutes have passed

**Only ten minutes have passed**

Ten minutes ago she kissed you.

She kissed you for the first time in the middle of that dark, cold CTU hallway after coming undone in your arms, victim of a nervous breakdown.

She kissed you, and that simple, little dose was enough for you to become an addicted.

Now after that simple little dose you are craving, aching for more, excruciatingly wanting and needing more.

Ten minutes ago she kissed you, and now her taste in your mouth is driving you crazy.

She kissed you, and your skin is still burning where she touched you, where she caressed you.

Your fingers and hands are still burning because you touched her, you caressed her.

She kissed you, and you kissed her back.

And now you're addicted.

And now you want more.

And you are dying slowly because you can't get another dose right now, because you can't go and wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close to you and get another dose of that drug she is for you.

God, those kisses are an addiction.

Those kisses made you an addicted.

God, you knew you were in love with her but now not only are you in love but you also are a Michelle Dessler-addicted.

And you have only kissed her once.

Ten minutes ago she kissed you, and you kissed her back urgently, fiercely, and with every drop of love and need and worship and devotion you put into the actions of cupping her face in your hands and tugging at her lips and letting your tongue dance in her mouth exploring each and all of its corners you have her your heart, your soul, your life, _everything_, you gave her everything when you kissed her back, and automatically became an addicted.

You became a Michelle Dessler-addicted.

And now you are suffering the withdrawal.

And only ten minutes have passed.

Tony Almeida, you are in trouble.


	21. Brown eyes

**Brown eyes**

Brown eyes meet brown eyes.

His hand shakes yours.

Your name falls off his lips, and it sounds even more beautiful.

"Michelle Dessler, right? My name is Tony Almeida"

Brown eyes meet brown eyes, his hand shakes your hand, your name has just fallen off his lips and it sounded beautiful, his own name fell off his lips right after yours did and it sounded beautiful too, as beautiful as those brown eyes that are sinking into yours, those brown eyes yours are sinking into.

You don't know it yet but the best part of your life has just started.


	22. She is

**She is**

She is your favorite song, the one you could listen to for hours and hours, the one you could hum for hours and hours, the one that you want forever to be the main part of the soundtrack of your life.

The one of her skin is your favorite shade of pink.

That of her lips is your favorite flavor.

She is your favorite movie, that one that can make you cry and laugh and smile and think and analyze, the one that teaches you things and gives you life lessons and shows you different sides and tells you different stories. A movie that ends happily. A movie that has a happy ending. Your favorite movie.

Her voice is the perfect lullaby.

Her skin is the softest velvet.

Her name sounds so sweet it intoxicates you, but you don't care. You want it to. You love it, her name. Her name is your favorite words, that word you will never tire of saying and repeating and writing and hearing and typing and whispering and thinking and using.

She is your favorite book, the one you have read a million times. The one you read and reread every day. The one you never get tired of reading. The one you will read for the rest of your life, for as long as you live. The one you know every word to, but it still surprises you every day when you read it again and you discover new things that have always been there but that you hadn't seen before.

Her eyes are your favorite mirror. Because when you look into them, you can see her soul.

Her soul is the most precious thing on this Earth, for you.

Her heart is the half that yours was missing before you met her.

She is your favorite food: you feed off her. And to live, to feed your heart and soul and body, you only need her, you need her and nothing else.

She is the cure to your every illness.

She is the solution to your every problem.

She is the answer to your every question.

She is the question that you can't wait to answer.

She is the one that thinks of you as her hero.

She is the one that makes you want to be a better person.

She is the one that has made you a better person.

She is the mother of your unborn child.

She is your wife.

She is your lover.

She is the love of your life.

She is the one you live for.

She is the one you worship.

She is your favorite season. She is all seasons to you: winter, spring, summer, autumn.

She is the most beautiful, special, important, meaningful thing that has ever happened to you.

She is what you're thankful for.

She is your gift from God.

She is the drug that you are addicted to.

She is the one thing you cannot live without.

She is the one thing you would not want to live without.

She is your salvation.

She is your guardian angel.

She is like a religion to you.

She is your beginning and your ending.

She is your reason to everything.

She is the air you breathe.

She is the one you depend on.

She is the reason you were born.

She is the one that makes you feel alive.

She is yours.

And you are hers.


	23. Breathing hurt so much

**Breathing hurt so much**

Breathing hurt so much. So much.

Without him, you could barely breathe.

You could barely exist.

You could barely think.

You didn't feel alive, at all.

Breathing hurt so much, every time you did you felt a knife twisting the deep wounds in your heart. Each two seconds, you were stabbed in the heart, over and over again.

Breathing hurt so much without him, you just wanted to stop.

Breathing hurt so much without him, you just wanted to give up.

Give up on everything, that sounded like a good idea.

Without him, breathing was not worth it.

Without him, living was not worth it.

Without him, existing didn't make sense. It was senseless.

You were senseless, without him.

Nothing made sense, without him.

Nothing was worthy, without him.

Life wasn't worth living, without him.

Breathing wasn't worth the pain or the effort, without him.

To eat you couldn't, without him, so you became skin and bones.

Sleeping was impossible without him, so you became a workaholic, you focused the little energy you had left on that, in an attempt of becoming numb, and so the suffering wouldn't be as terrible. But it didn't work, of course, it just worsened everything.

So you stopped eating, you stopped sleeping, you worked as hard as you could until your body saw itself in the middle of a vicious circle of self-destruction, you started to harm yourself because physical pain was better than emotional pain or so they said, and you kept on breathing, even if it hurt like hell, even if every time you did it was as if your soul were being ripped apart from the leftovers of what once had been a beautiful body.

You were just a body without a soul, a body without a heart, a body that just functioned automatically, and a body that wasn't alive. Just a body, you were without him. An empty body, an empty shell you were. A body that breathed, you were, a body that breathed simply because breathing was as natural as loving him, as natural as missing him, as natural as needing him, as natural as wanting to die, as natural as hurting.

Breathing hurt so much.

Your eyes were empty without him.

Your eyes were like the ones of a ghost without him.

Your eyes had no life in them without him.

Every time you breathed, they shone a little, showing your never ending pain.

Each two seconds, you breathed, you hurt, and your empty, lifeless eyes shone in pain.

Breathing hurt so much, you just wanted to stop breathing.

You wanted to stop existing.

You wanted to stop suffering.

You wanted to stop hurting.

You wanted to stop breathing.

Breathing hurt so much, you just wanted it all to end.

Breathing hurt so much, you just wanted to give up on that too.

You had given up on food, you had given up on sleeping, you had given up on taking the anti depressives that lady whose tag read 'Doctor Nelly Sheldon' had said would help you feeling better, you had given up on loving yourself, you had given up on life, you had given up on everything.

You wanted to give up on breathing and existing too, because it hurt so much.

You wanted to give up on being just an empty shell that walked around and worked as hard as possible if not harder, you wanted to give up on staring at the space with those grey eyes that only shone each two seconds every time you breathed and the pain stabbed you in the stomach and in the heart.

You wanted to give up.

Because it all hurt so much.

Because you couldn't go on, not like that anymore.

Not without him.

Because pretending you were okay, pretending you were strong, acting cold and like the typical bitchy boss while helping the government fighting terrorism and putting the bad guys away, pretending you were doing fine, pretending you were better, pretending you were getting your life back in track (life? What was that? You didn't have a life. You had once had one when he was with him, but that seemed to have happened a long time ago), it all hurt so much.

Pretending to be something you were not hurt so much.

Pretending to be human hurt so much.

Pretending to be alive when the truth was you were dead inside hurt so much.

Holding back the tears hurt so much.

Crying every night and hitting your head against the wall so the emotional pain would be compensated with physical pain hurt so much.

You just wanted it all to stop.

You wanted it all to end.

You wanted to die.

You had decided you were going to die, you had decided you would stop breathing.

You would take care of the little things that needed to be taken care of, and then you would end it all, you would give up on breathing too.

You had made up your mind.

That upcoming Saturday, you were going to close your lifeless eyes for the last time and give up on absolutely everything.

Just a couple of days to go, you thought that morning.

Just a couple of days to go, and everything would be over.

For good.

Forever.

Just a couple of days to go, and the suffering, the hurting, would stop.

You would stop breathing, therefore the hurting would cease.

Just a couple of days to go, you thought that day. Bill had asked you out for lunch, and for what felt the hundredth time you had told him you didn't feel like it. You know he was trying to be a friend, that he was a nice man that was trying to help you out. You also knew you didn't want any help. You wanted Tony, as simple as that. You couldn't have him, so what was the point on carrying on with your life? None that was the correct answer. So that day you didn't eat lunch, you just drank coffee. Coffee on an empty stomach: that caused physical pain. Physical pain helped you keep your façade; physical pain was good, because it made emotional pain more bearable.

Just a couple more days to go and everything would be fine, because you would stop breathing. That was the thought in your mind when you got that call.

CTU Los Angeles, ha! You had to go there. You had to go to CTU Los Angeles.

You would go there for the very last time, you thought as you got in your car.

Just a couple more days to go, and you wouldn't have to breathe anymore, consequently the hurting would stop.

_Just a couple more days to go, Michelle, you can do it_ you told yourself.

You would help your country one last time before committing suicide.

You would pretend to be strong, confident, bitchy, bossy and a cold for a very last time before taking your last breath.

You would be faithful to the promise you had made of protecting citizens for a very last time.

Then Saturday would come, and you would kill yourself. You would end the pain. The suffering. You would end it all. You wouldn't have to breathe anymore. You wouldn't have to be reminded of everything you had once had and lost anymore.

Breathing would not hurt anymore.

Just another bunch of days and everything would be fine, that was the thought that crossed your mind that evening.

You didn't have anything to live for. The only thing you wanted to live for was not there with you. You had failed him. You had ruined his life. You had made him unhappy. You hadn't been enough. You had ended up being the reason why everything he had worked for went to waste. You didn't deserve him, you never had. You had had to set him free, you had had to let him go. If you reminded him so much of a past he wished he could forget, then you had to let him go: you couldn't stay and try to work thing outs if you were torturing him more and more with each passing day. That was why you left. And from that day on, you had nothing to live for.

So it was okay to end up the suffering on your own terms. You had spent six months fighting a battler you always knew you wouldn't win, and you were tired. You just wanted it to stop. You just wanted everything to stop. You wanted to breathe no more.

Because breathing hurt so much.

_Just this last mission, Michelle_ you thought. _Be useful to your country one last time, Michelle, come on, pull yourself together and do this one last time_, you thought.

_Just a few more days, Michelle, and you won't have to breathe anymore. And the pain will cease. Just this last mission, and after this one is accomplished, you can go home and die. And once you do, you'll become an angel and you'll take care of him and you will look after him and protect him. And you will not hurt anymore_ you thought, and immediately after that crossed your mind you laughed bitterly to yourself, wondering if everything would have been easier if you had kept on taking the medication.

No, it wouldn't have been any easier, it would have only made you put up with the suffering for longer.

God, breathing hurt so much.

Without him, existing hurt so much.

You just wished that all would be over with soon, that was what you were thinking when you crossed the tall gates.

_Just a few more days, Michelle. Come on, you can do it. Help your country one last time. Just a few more days, Michelle. Then you'll become an angel. His angel. And the hurting will stop, because you will not have to breathe anymore. Come on, Michelle, you can do it_.


	24. A single tear streams down your face

**A single tear streams down your face**

A single tear streams down your face.

Her almond shaped dark eyes have seen you cry before.

You shed a tear, a single tear when she said _yes_ a millisecond after you asked her if would make you the happiest, luckiest man alive by giving you every piece of her heart, soul and body and committing and devoting her eternity to yours, showing to the world that she would forever belong to you by wearing that promise physically represented by the gold band you thought would never be enough of a material symbol of your love and adoration to one another. You shed a tear that day, and she caught it with her perfect little thumb.

You shed a tear, a single tear the day you made her your wife. That day, white became your favorite color. On her it looked so beautiful and so pure, _almost_ as beautiful and as pure as she herself was the day she married you. White became your favorite color because white was the satin involving her body tightly, white was the dress on which she later told you felt like a real princess. You shed a tear the day you made her your wife, and when after what in your opinion took an eternity she arrived to your side in front of the altar she saw it as it made its way down your face and caught it with her soft, pink lips.

You shed a tear, a single tear the night you took her virginity. She was trembling with nervousness, anticipation, consuming love and sweet yearning under the touch of your large, warm, gentle hands. Her almond shaped dark eyes not breaking the lock between them and yours not even for a second, her inexpert hands writing unintelligibly words of love on your back eliciting sensations that no other woman had been able to before. Millions of butterflies were caressing the walls of yours and her stomach, dancing they were, following the rhythm of your synchronized heartbeats. When the two of you became one, when your soul and hers met, when all of a sudden the whole universe disappeared and everything made sense and life was so beautiful it couldn't be explained how much by using words, when she sighed and held her breath and whispered your name in half pleasure – half pain, you shed a single tear. A tear she couldn't catch, nor with her perfect little thumb or with her soft, pink lips, because she was so lost in the feeling of you loving and completing her she didn't notice your eyes had watered. She didn't notice, either, that her eyes were watered as well, but she did feel your lips kissing the single tear she shed.

Those, you thought, would forever remain as the most important, meaningful moments of your life: when she said _yes_, when she said _I do_, when she breathlessly whispered your name as the two of you shed each one a single tear.

That was, of course, until today.

A single tear streams down your face.

Her almond shaped dark eyes have seen you cry before.

A single tear streams down your face, but before it reaches your lips it's caught by her soft, pink lips that wash it away with a simple kiss.

"_Thank you_" these are the only two words you manage to mutter, and never in all your life have they been truer: what you're feeling right now, stronger and deeper and more powerful and more vividly than the happiness that is overwhelming you, is gratitude. You are thankful for her, you have always been thankful for her, but you didn't know exactly how much and how immensely until today.

You are thankful for her, and for the child she is going to give you.

Ten minutes ago you shed a tear when she told you she is going to make you a father. Ten minutes ago, that single tear you shed was caught by her lips and washed away by her tender kiss.

Ten minutes have passed, and tears are still streaming down your face. And her lips are still catching each and every one of them.


	25. Ask me again

**Ask me again**

Those eyes, they are the most precious, beautiful thing in the world to you. His eyes are, without a doubt, the mirrors to his soul, that soul that forever belongs to you, to you and to no one else. Every time those eyes and yours met, what you feel is something that cannot be described, what you feel is something so pure and so special you can barely breathe. It takes your breath away, the way he looks at you in the eyes, it leaves you breathless the way those eyes and yours communicate in a language unknown to the rest of the world.

His eyes are, without a doubt, those that can speak words that don't exist, words that are only meant for you to hear, words that had been created by him just to try and explain how hard he has fallen for you, how much and how desperately he needs you, how much he wishes he could make all your dreams come true and give you absolutely everything you want.

Your dreams, they have all come true.

Everything you want, you have it in your arms now.

He is everything you want.

He is the one that has made all your dreams come true.

He is the answer to your silent, sometimes denied prayers.

Those eyes, all you've ever needed and wished and hoped and dared to ask for can be found in those eyes. Those eyes, all your dreams came true when those eyes and yours met and he asked you to be his, forever. Those eyes, all your dreams came true and you became the princess you had always wanted to be the day he promised you his eternity will be yours and no one else's.

Several years ago, under a sky that was lit by the moon and the stars, he asked you to be eternally his.

You said yes.

And with tears in those eyes he asked you again, just because he wanted to hear that little word that meant a lifetime of happiness once more.

And you said yes.

And then you asked him to ask you again.

And you said yes for the third time.

From that night on, every night – even after you became his wife – he would ask you to be his forever. And you would make him the happiest man alive by saying yes, again and again and again.

When everything fell apart and you two were _physically forced_ to be separated, in the middle of a court full of people that had been waiting to see him be convicted, as you held him tightly for the last time, he whispered in your ears – that were only open to his voice but couldn't hear any other noises or sounds –: _"I'll keep asking every night before I fall asleep. Will you keep saying yes every night?"_

Six months you spent alone, miserable and depressed.

Six months you spent wishing you had died, so he wouldn't have had to be doomed to go through that Hell and back.

Six months you spent crying and dying inside, pretending to be okay and faking so the rest of the world wouldn't know you were suffering terribly.

Six long months that seemed like the worst, most horrible eternity you spent missing him, needing him, loving him more and more with each passing second, wishing he were there with you, so he could ease you pain. But he wasn't there, and it was his absence that was causing that pain that was destroying you.

Six months you spent crying yourself to sleep, and between desperate sobs all you could manage to whisper was his name.

And, right before the sleeping pills kicked in, you somehow always managed to whisper 'yes' to answer the question he promised he would ask every night.

Then he came back.

He came back home, to you.

He was a free man again.

But he was destroyed.

He wasn't the same.

He wasn't the man that had once swept you off your feet.

He wasn't the man you had married.

He wasn't the man you had promised forever to.

He wasn't the man that had sacrificed everything for you.

He wasn't the man that had saved you, more than once and in all kinds of ways.

He wasn't the man you had given yourself to.

He wasn't the man that had taught you what love is.

He wasn't the man that had taught you how to love.

He wasn't the man you had made your husband.

He was broken.

He had changed.

He was damaged.

And you couldn't stop feeling guilty.

Guilt was, actually, all you could feel.

Guilt, and sorrow, and pain, and a deep, dark hole right in the centre of your heart.

It was your fault, and no one could say anything to convince you otherwise.

His life was ruined because he had chosen you, because he had chosen to save you. He had betrayed the country he had once sworn to always protect and defend because your life was on the line. He had chosen you. Your safety above the country's he chose. For you, treason he committed. For you, his life he ruined.

It was your entire fault.

Every night you would try to hold him and rock him to sleep, but he wouldn't let you.

Evert night you would try to caress him, but he wouldn't let you.

Every night you would try to whisper soothing, sweet things in his ears, but he wouldn't let you.

But despite all that, each night you waited.

Waiting hurt, but each night you waited.

You waited, embracing the hope that he would ask you that question again.

You waited, but those words you loved so much never left his lips, and those eyes that mean everything to you never shone the way they used to before the walls came crumbling down on you and both your lives were hit by the tragic hand of destiny.

You waited, and waited, and waited.

But during those cold nights, he never asked you.

He just ignored you.

He just hurt you with his silence.

He would just turn his back on you and act as if you didn't exist. Oh, but when he wanted sex, when he wanted to get off, ignoring you wasn't an option all of a sudden, was it? Oh, God, how bitter were those months for you; your existence was only acknowledged when he felt like fucking you. The only physical connection between the two of you materialized only when intercourse took place, but after his drinking problems became too much, even silent, rough sex stopped, leaving you feeling emptier than ever. Because the truth is – and you never had a problem admitting it, even if doing so cost you your pride and dignity - you didn't really care that he only spoke (barely) to you when he wanted to fuck you; you needed that connection, even if it wasn't what it used to be, even if it wasn't what you had gotten used to. You needed to be one with him; you needed your body and his to become one, even if for him it was just sex and you were the only one pretending you two were making love, even when you knew he wasn't.

When that sort of wicked, tainted, destructing connection you had finally died when he was too drunk to even move, your hope died as well.

Your hope was dead, but you kept on waiting.

You waited, and waited, and waited, thinking that one day he would sober up, hold you tightly in his arms and simply ask you again if you wanted to be his for eternity.

He never did.

Those words, he didn't say them.

And when you couldn't stand it anymore, you had to leave. Because had you done otherwise, you would have ended up dying from that terrible pain that each day tore you apart.

Each one of those nights you had spent going with him trough hell – alone but together, together but alone -, each one of those nights you had waited for him to ask that question again. But the words never left his lips.

Each one of those nights, even if he never asked you, you kept on whispering 'yes' with your head buried in your pillow.

You kept on answering the unasked question even after you had left.

Every night, every night as you cried yourself to sleep, every night as you hit your head against the wall, every night as you cut deeper and deeper trying to feel something other than the emotional suffering that was consuming you violently, every night the last word to escape your lips before the sleeping pills kicked in was 'yes', the answer to a question you hadn't been asked in such a long, long time.

A year has passed since the last night you spent alone, in a cold apartment you couldn't call home, with your arms all bruised and a splitting headache torturing you, with your dreams destroyed and your heart aching so much it hurt every time it beat, with your job being the only thing that kept you kind of sane, the only thing that kept you from stopping the pain on your own terms by committing suicide.

Today, it's been a year since you two reunited.

Today, it's been a year since your lips kissed yours tenderly and passionately in the middle of a hallway at four am in the morning.

Today, it's been a year since you decided to leave behind the only job you've ever done, the job that had torn you apart from him first and then kept you sane when everything around you was doomed to fall apart and you were hurting so much death seemed to be the only way out.

Today, it's been a year since you got back together.

Today, it's been a year since you confessed to him between desperate sobs that you never mailed the divorce papers, that you didn't have the heart to do it, that you simply could not do it, that you had only sent them to him in the first place to see if that could make him see what he had done to you, how much he had hurt you, how everything had been ruined, how something that had been so beautiful and so strong had ended up becoming so fragile. You had thought that if you sent him those papers, he would go back to you, that he would see… When he mailed them back to you with his signature on them, your heart broke. And heartbroken you put them away in a drawer and never looked at them again, for they were his decision to end it all materialized and the bare thought of knowing he had signed them, the bare thought of knowing he hadn't gone back to you when he found out you had filled in for a divorce was enough to have you bleeding.

Today, it's been a year since he found out you were still married to each other.

Today, it's been a year since you fell asleep in his arms again, after such long sleepless nights you never were sure you would survive (but you did, and that is all that matters. You did, because a part of you refused to die without finding out if destiny would reunite you with him again).

People start again all the time when it's important to them.

Today, it's been a year since you two decided to start over new. It's been a year since you decided to leave that all behind and start again.

A year, a year has passed.

It's been a year since he held you in his arms, kissed your eyelids shut and while rocking you to sleep asked you again if you wanted to be his forever, for the rest of both yours and his eternity. It's been a year since you heard those words being whispered again in your ears for the first time in a long time. It's been a year since that question was asked to you again, while his hot breath caressed your neck and his hands drew circles on your stomach. It's been a year since you answered with a 'yes', a simple, little word that meant a lifetime of happiness together, this time without any interruptions.

Every day of this last year, every night before falling asleep with his head on your should and his arms wrapped around your waist, he nuzzled right under your ear and asked that question in a husky tone.

Tonight, everything you need is in your arms. You are holding him, he is holding you tighter than ever, and those eyes that are your universe are looking into yours while his large, warm hands caress your bare back without pause, making goose bumps pop up everywhere every now and then. Your head and his are resting on the same pillow, the tip of your nose slightly caresses the bridge of his, and the air you exhale is the same air he breathes in, making the oxygen sweeter than ever with that combination of your breath and his.

Tonight, the man of your dreams, the man that you are and have always been in love with (madly in love with), is in your arms, just about to fall asleep right after he asked you that question, right after he heard you say 'yes' for what felt like the first and the millionth time, all in one.

He is starting to doze off, and even though you know you should just close your eyes and drift off to sleep as well, you cannot help your self.

This time, this time you are the one doing the asking.

"Tony" you whisper, causing his eyes to shut open ", will _you_ be mine for the rest of our eternities?"

You know he will.

You know he will say yes.

Every time you have asked him this, every time you have felt the need of asking him this, he said yes.

And you know that 'yes' will be forever the answer to that question.

But you need to hear him say it.

You want to hear his sweet, loving whisper.

"Yes"

You hum happily, satisfied, and you close your eyes again ready to succumb to your exhaustion, but he doesn't.

"Michelle"

Your name falling off his beautiful lips causes you to shut your eyes open.

"Ask me again, please?"

"Will you be mine for the rest of our eternities?"

And this time instead of a 'yes' – a simple, yet precious and meaningful yes -, he decides to use a litany of words to show you just how much you mean to him, just how much he adores you, just how much he regrets every single time he hurt you, just how much he wants to be with you forever, just how much he wants to keep you safe and happy forever, just how much he wants to take care of you forever.

He rolls over so he is on top of you now, with his head resting on your chest, his arms circling your waist, the beat of your heart the only sound he can hear, the only sound he wants to hear.

The first of those beautiful words are:

"I will be yours for as long as I live, baby"


	26. Peaches and caffeine

**Peaches and caffeine**

Her lips taste like peaches and her mouth tastes caffeine.

Sugar, milk, cream and coffee mixed with the sweet flavor of her lipstick, that's what her kisses taste like.

Peaches and caffeine, who would have thought those two things that are so different one from the other could end up becoming your deepest addiction?

Peaches and caffeine, you definitely wouldn't have thought those two things so different one from the other would ever end up becoming your deepest addiction, your deepest weakness.

Peaches and caffeine, their respective sweetness and bitterness make her kisses bittersweet.

Peaches and caffeine, you used to love them both equally but separately, but now it seems you can only have them an actually enjoy them if you taste them in her mouth when you passionately kiss her.

Peaches and caffeine: the strangest, sweetest, most addictive combination of flavors.

And to that combination you are terribly addicted.

Peaches and caffeine, her lips taste like peaches and her mouth tastes like caffeine.

Sugar, milk, cream and coffee mixed with the sweet flavor of her exquisite lipstick, that's what the kisses of the love of your life taste like.


	27. You try not to cry

**You try not to cry**

You try not to cry, but you cry anyway, for your tears can't be held, for they need to fall to express just how broken your heart is.

You try not to cry, but you cry anyway, for your pain is too great to bare it silently.

You try not to cry, but you cry anyway, for the holes in your heart and soul are just too deep to ignore they exist.

You try not to cry, but you cry anyway, for you miss him so much it hurts to breathe.

You try not to cry, but you cry anyway, for you have come to depend on him on so many levels you stopped being functional the minute you gave him the power over your willingness to live.

You try not to cry, but you cry anyway, for without him every space within your body and your soul that was once filled with love, hope and dreams is now empty and useless.

You try not to cry, but you cry anyway, for your heartache is so strong you know it'll eventually drive you to kill yourself.

You try not to cry, but you cry anyway.

You try not to cry.

You try.

You cry.

You cry yourself to sleep.

You fall sleep.

You want to fall asleep forever, and never wake up, for without him there aren't reasons that are good enough for you to want to be awake.

You try not to cry, but you cry anyway.

You cry.

You try not to cry.

You cry.

You try, you try, you try, you try not to cry, and all of a sudden tears stop falling, they no longer stream down your face.

You have stopped crying, tears are not falling down, they no longer fall down your cheeks.

You can't cry anymore, for without him you are empty.

You can't cry anymore, for without him you don't function.

You can't cry anymore, for without him you don't exist.

You can't cry anymore, for without him the amount of physical strength that is required for crying doesn't exist. You have no strength. You are just a weak pile of skin and bones. You have no strength, not anymore.

You can't cry anymore, for without him you no longer are a human being.

You can't cry anymore, for without him you are dead.


End file.
